We're All Mad Here
by spillmycanvas
Summary: After the Joker's crushing defeat with Batman, his body is left bruised and broken. With the Bat in retirement, the Joker is out of people to obsess over. Until he comes across a woman, just as twisted as the both of them. However, the Joker gets bored easily. So how long will this obsession last? And does it risk ruining the psychotic clowns reputation for feeling no emotion?
1. Synopsis

After the Joker's crushing defeat with Batman, his body is left bruised and broken. With the Bat in retirement, the Joker is out of people to obsess over. Until he comes across a woman who is just as twisted as the both of them. However, the Joker gets bored easily. So how long will this slight obsession last? And does it risk ruining the psychotic clowns reputation for feeling no emotion?

 **Author's Note- This story is rated M for a reason, so please read at your own discretion. It contains swearing, violence, and themes of addition and suicide. So, again if any of this makes you uncomfortable I urge you to read another fanfic.**

 **Please enjoy the story, and just to clarify I sadly own none of the characters- with exception to the OC's.**


	2. Call Me A Cynic

**Part One**

 **Chapter One- Call Me A Cynic**

"Gah. My head is killing me." The clown in the bed beside me groaned out weakly.

The doctors had made the decision that morning to wake him up from his induced coma wanting rid of him as quickly as possible. They hadn't bothered to go through the proper procedure to see if his body was stable enough to be woken, not that anybody cared. The whole of Gotham would probably celebrate his death, which was one of the reasons the GCPD (meaning Commissioner James Gordon- the only incorruptible cop on the force) worked so hard to keep his location unknown to the public- they didn't want to investigate another murder, especially one that would have an endless supply of suspects. The Joker had pissed off a whole lot of people.

If it wasn't for Aaron Cash, the Arkham Guard that Commissioner James Gordon had specifically appointed, there would no doubt be some sort of slip up with his medical dosage turning the induced coma into a permanent one.

Apparently Arkham was a lot like the Police; if you have enough money, you could get away with anything for a small bribe, that was so long as no other guards or officers get hurt, in which case you are dead- and it wouldn't be a nice or pretty death either, it would be long and painful. Officers had to make it be known that they were the only true Untouchables in the city, an attack on one of their own was an attack on the whole Police Force, so they had to string you up like the animal you are to send a bloody message to the crooks and other lowlife scum- _you don't fuck with the GCPD._

Arkham Asylum had the same sort of system running for it. The Guards had to make it clear they were the ones running the joint, as well as take in extra income for their pretty low wages. But unlike the GCPD's caught criminals, most of the prisoners were too crazy to follow the rules- meaning there were a huge number of patient mishaps and accidental falls.

The only exceptions to this type of mentality was Gordon and Cash, who was ex-GCPD, believing a job at Arkham would be quieter and safer- how wrong he was. Their high morals made them so entertaining to observe, but it also made me feel physically sick. How anybody could live in Gotham and survive being unsoiled beacons of virtue, when most honest men were swallowed whole by the city and spat back out as rancid, loathsome beings, made them a mystery to me. And I was envious of the answer. My innocence had perished in early childhood, if I had been born with any at all, but it didn't mean that I didn't crave for its return.

Aaron Cash was unique compared with everyone else who entered the room. He was the only person I saw who didn't look at the Joker with fear or revulsion, only a cool indifference as if the person before him was nothing more than a pitiful beggar, rather than a psychotic mass murderer. It was that difference which made him so interesting to speak to, and allowed me to suppress my secret resentment.

When I had asked him about his lack of horror about having to guard the infamous Joker, he had told me he had a life-long time of experience in dealing with _'crazies'_. Cash had apologised straight afterwards, the embarrassment at his word-choice being shown clearly by his face. He sometimes forgot it was only a few weeks until I too would be sent off in a van to an Asylum. Albeit, not the same one. I wasn't yet a proper criminal, although my action was technically against the law.

His words stung, but I swallowed it begrudgingly as a compliment- his pity made me resent him further. I still had the ability to act 'normal', a skill which would help in the long-run if I had the intention of leaving wherever it was I was to be sent off too. Returning to the outside world was my top priority, I didn't care for getting better. I just didn't want to be held anywhere against my will.

" _Myyyyy heeeeeeeeaaaaaadddddd."_ The clown groaned out again, this time louder. His eyes were still squeezed closed, and if it wasn't for his moans I would've still have thought he was asleep.

I started at him, sceptic of his behaviour- him being a whiner was the last thing I had imagined. And I had been so looking forward to our first proper encounter.

Truth be told, I had envisioned our first conversation nearly for the whole of the duration of my stay. It was one of the only things that kept my mind occupied, and away from thoughts about me bashing my brains out on the pristine white walls, that stunk of detergent and disinfectant. If I breathed in the scent of the walls deeply and for long enough, my head would go woozy and start to spin (another activity which kept my mind occupied, however it was less preferable as had the tendency to leave me with a splitting headache).

"Where's _my_ morphine?" He demanded, his eyes shut tight.

I looked guiltily at the empty drip that stood beside him. After the Cash left for his lunch break I had stretched with my feet to grab the drip (I could hardly use my hands- one of them was slightly tied up at the moment) and injected it into myself.

His morphine was a higher dosage then the one I had been given when I was administered into the hospital. His morphine was _euphoric._

As the fluid made its way around my body, I felt every blood vessel become consoled in a fuzzy warmness which made me feel weightless. If I jumped out a window I may have flown. My spirit was leaving my body and I was heading towards Nirvana, I was so close to getting there until I plummeted down. And once again was trapped in the festering shithole filled with filth and rot, which is Gotham.

I had been stealing small dosages, okay _all dosages,_ of his morphine during my stay. The fourth time the Nurse brought him in some, I told myself I should stop taking it, recalling some story about a woman who kept going on morphine during labour and ending up an addict. But then the drip was staring at me, and maybe if I had something else to do I would've left it be- but I was _so mind-numbingly bored._ So I thought 'to hell with it!' believing it'll be easy to quit when I'm on the outside cause there I won't have morphine staring me in the face all day, and I once again injected it into my system.

I decided to tell him a half-truth. I knew it wasn't the wisest decision to tell the Joker that you had been the one who is currently causing him pain.

"The hospital you blew up had most of the city's medical supplies. They're kinda strained with resources until Metropolis finally agrees to help out." I explained, my voice struggled to stay neutral partially because I wasn't being completely honest and partially because I didn't believe one word of the second sentence. I had regurgitated the stories the Politicians and Doctors had been force feeding all of the patients and press to keep Gotham happy.

Like _hell_ , would Metropolis help us out. They hadn't done shit after Scarecrow's Night of Terror, so it was doubtful they'd change their ways now. Lex Luthor, the puppet master and powerhouse behind Metropolis, was too consumed with his own egotism and ambition to run for President to hear Gotham's cries for help.

"Heh." The Joker snorted. Apparently he understood the lack of likelihood of help too.

He opened his eyes for the first time, staring up at the tiled ceiling. He took his time surveying his surroundings, slowly moving his neck to avoid the disorientation of the whiplash and concussion he was still probably suffering from. After a near fall to his death after a scrape with the Bat, the impact of being stopped from becoming ground putty, had damaged his brain. Not as if it wasn't damaged enough already.

When he first was moved into the hospital the only thing preventing his escape was the coma and a pair of handcuffs, keeping him attached to the bed- just in case an accident occurred, and he woke up before schedule- although I doubted a pair of handcuffs would prevent his escape. The Nurses quickly made the decision to upgrade his cuffs to having him completely strapped down to the bed, after he kept having violent fits in his coma causing the skin of his wrist to abrade, the ties limiting the fits to an occasional head jerk. The Nurses had to reassure Cash he wasn't being slowly poisoned to death, and that his fits were the result of some bad dream which can happen to patients in comas.

His bad dream appeared to be constant. I nearly felt sorry for the psychopath.

I was the last thing in the room he looked at, I figured he was first assessing the chances and possibilities of escape; something I had done when I was first admitted. His eyes were two black holes- less dramatic with the lack of makeup, but still terrifying. I had watched his broadcasts on a loop, pausing them to stare into his dead shark-like eyes that held little-to-no emotion. Sharks had always been my favourite animals.

Although they still looked sharp, they didn't seem dead- not at least with all the pain he was in. They had a glazed over feature, perhaps from the high dosage of medication running in his bloodstream from the induced coma. But I concluded that it was from the pain. Even though he had complained about the pain, he seemed to find it exhilarating.

I had been right to be sceptic- he was pretending to be weaker than he actually is. Trying to bait me into a false sense of security, just like the predator he is.

"Thought you were a Nurse." He croaked.

"Nope. Patient." I said, raising my bandaged wrist and holding it up in the air for him to see before dropping it down by my side again, hiding a wince as the hard mattress collided with the bruised skin. Monsters like him thrived on others weaknesses, I knew that from personal experience.

He grinned, his scars made his smile reach his cheekbones.

The makeup had worn off completely weeks ago by the sweat his fits had caused. Nobody dared wash him, fearing a consequence of manhandling him. It meant he smelt rancid, but it didn't take long for me to adjust through to only breathing through my mouth. Even though he lacked his makeup, he still looked like the Joker- and possibly a more twisted version compared to his theatrical persona.

His skin was pale, and the area surrounding his eyes dark by the hours of unpleasant sleep he suffered through. I noticed he had the habit of gnawing at his scarred gums as he underwent his fits, maybe the memory of how he got them caused him pain, or he gnawed at them to comfort himself as a perverted coping mechanism, either theory was as likely as the other. The repetitive grinding had made them nearly as red as his face paint had.

"Say, uh, why dontcha be a dearie, and loosen these straps." His eyes flickered between me and his bounds rapidly, looking about as innocent as a child who had just been caught stealing treats from a cupboard. I was wondering when he'd drop this innocent façade.

"I would but-" I clanged my handcuffs against the metal bar for a dramatic effect, and grinned up at him when the smile slipped from his face and warped into annoyance.

His eyes rolled to the top of his head infuriated his chances of escape for the time being had diminished, and he turned to face the spotless ceiling. Now that I was no use to him, there was little point of him wasting his breath on me. I'd be lying if I wasn't the slightest bit offended.

I continued watching him, as I had always done when the Nurses and Doctors and Cash weren't around. He was like an exotic dangerous bird- or maybe a wild beast, it seemed more fitting- trapped in a cage. I'd never visited the Zoo before, but I imagined this is what it'd be like. A beautifully dangerous animal stolen from the thrill of killing and feasting upon its prey, to be monitored and observed by even more destructive beings- so awful, they deny or don't even acknowledge the pain they bestow on other beings.

Well call me a cynic, that shit was deep.

"It's rude to stare." His eyes flickered momentarily back to me, before returning to the ceiling. I ignored his words, and he started to ignore my unwavering gaze. I really _was_ worthless to him.

I ignored him and continued watching him for what felt like an eternity, there weren't any clocks to tell me otherwise. He remained perfectly motionless, like a still life painting. His eyes were open but he didn't blink, confirming my theory he was part-shark. I couldn't even see the rise and fall of his chest. I began to wonder if he even needed to breathe.

 _Maybe he's dead,_ I thought, despite the constant beeps of the ECG's readings telling otherwise.

"They're waiting two days to review your health, and then they're sending you off to Arkham," I told him, just to be certain he was living. "Commissioner Gordon thinks it's better than you staying here, where the public have a chance at getting to you. Not to mention the Nurses- you better watch out for them."

It was only one Nurse in particular I was worried about- Johnston. She had worked at the hospital he blew up, a hospital were her husband had been admitted into following a series of strokes. He had been in the toilets during the evacuation and the stress of the commotion outside had brought on another stroke. When his flattened body was eventually found from the rubble remains of the hospital the forensic investigator could no longer tell if it had been the blast that killed him, the fallen debris, or the stroke itself. Nurse Johnston had a grudge to settle with the Joker, as did most of Gotham, but unlike most people who were only talk- she meant business.

His eyes snapped towards me, gone was the glazed over look, as he held me captive with a dark glare. _If looks could kill._ It was as if I had personally sentenced him.

"I'm not _crazy_. I don't belong in Arkham" He hissed lowly as it had been me who had personally sentenced him.

"Maybe not," I lied shrugging, deep down I was happy to finally have his full attention. It had been ages since I was the centre of attention, when you're put in a room with the Joker, you tend to be invisible. "But Arkham's better than Blackgate. At least in Arkham you didn't try kill all the inmates! They'd eat you up before you could even get your first breakfast at the place!"

I would've laughed too if I sensed he was in a lighter mood, currently he was taking the news very personally. _What did he expect would happen to him after he tried to destroy the whole of Gotham?_ The man sure was a mystery to me.

"You, _girlie_ , are really starting to _piss_ me off. And you won't like me when I'm pissed."

I tried to feign fright, but just couldn't. And laughed outright at his menacing smile which morphed into a furious glare.

"Sorry," I apologised, my eyes tearing up from trying to regain control of my giggles. "Making death threats to someone who just tried committing suicide? That's just about the funniest thing I've heard in a long time."

A wolf-like smile appeared on his face. "Oh, I wouldn't kill ya. What I have in mind is much, _much_ worse."

He let the threat linger in the air ominously, and the chuckles dried out in my throat. The beeps of the ECG hastened, no doubt from his excitement at the prospects of torturing the girl who annoyed him.

And for the first time, I looked away.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** **I have incorporated some characters outside the film franchise into the story, so therefore will include Character Bio's at the end of some chapters just to ensure everyone is up to speed, and nobody has an advantage in reading.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed my first chapter. Please feel free to message me, and leave a review.**

 **Character Bio's**

 **Aaron Cash- One of Arkham's toughest, respected and least corrupt guards. After a confrontation with Killer Croc (who is an inmate of the Asylum), Cash's entire hand is bitten off and gets replaced by a metal hook- causing a deep rivalry between the pair to fester.**

 **Lex Luthor- An intelligent villain who features heavily in** ** _Superman,_** **but does have ties with the** ** _Batman_** **Universe when he runs for President.**


	3. Pumpkin's Little Obsession

**Chapter Two- Pumpkin's Little Obsession**

The Head Doctor and his team of Nurses surrounded him, and once again I was invisible to the room despite only being four feet away from the person who held the centre (not of the room- he was near the door- but of attention).

Cash sat by my feet at the bottom of the bed, observing the situation like a hawk to make sure the Joker didn't get too out of hand. I could've sworn there was a hospital rule about not being allowed to sit on patient's beds to stop infection, but nobody said anything to him even if they had noticed. I wouldn't mess with a man who had a metal hook for a hand either.

"I knew you liked me Doctor," the Joker started, "But- hehe! That tickles."

They were currently trying to take out the IV's he was attached to, which was proving more than difficult as it meant that they had to temporary loosen some of his bounds, and he was giving them all hell. I tried watching, though a fat Nurse kept blocking my view to hold him down. Despite the rubbish view, this had been the best form of entertainment I'd seen for my entire time here. Even better than the morphine dosages I had taken and was currently craving for more of.

"Shut up, clown." Cash grumbled in the background.

He was in a bad mood, being given an earful by the Doctors who said he should've been in the room when the Joker woke up to 'inform them of his state', rather than on his lunch break. Aaron argued that it was up to the hospital staff to constantly check up on its patient's state, but of course Doctors being Doctors (meaning-arrogant assholes), meant that they refused to take the blame.

"Say Cash! How about you give these Doctors a hand? Given you've only got one!" The Joker joked.

Cash looked away, causing the Joker to laugh in delight.

 _How he thrived on others weaknesses_.

Nurse Johnston ripped out one of the needles aggressively, causing the laughter to become disjointed by a whelp of pain, before returning again, this time even more hysterical. Johnston's already angry glare, hardened. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

My eyes flickered down to Cash's claw momentarily. He hadn't told me what had happened to it, only that there were apparently- 'worse villains than the Joker out there, one's that hide in the shadows- too evil for even Gotham to know about'. Whoever did it had Cash running terrified. Not that I blamed him, I mean, he did lose a hand. It was just strange seeing somebody as strong as Cash curl up inside whenever his missing hand was brought into conversation.

"Can't you give him a sedative or sumthin'?"

The Head Doctor replied to Cash, a bead of sweat trickling down his face as he tried to restrain the Joker's thrashes to allow them to do their work, "Afraid not. After just coming out of the induced coma it's too dangerous to risk putting him back into a forced sleep."

Cash grunted, a signal that he understood.

"Aww, c'mon Doc! I just know-uh you're just _itching_ to make me suffer."

 _I was itching for more morphine._ My veins felt like they were throbbing out of my skin.

The Joker continued, "Who'd I hurt? _Tell me_. I'm just _dying_ to know."

A drop of sweat rolled off of the Doctor's face who shook from the tension of trying to stay silence, when every nerve and impulse was calling for him to lash out. The droplet fell onto the corner of the Joker's mouth, and he slurped it up with one revolting lick of his tongue. The whole room watched the scene play out, silent with repulsion and anticipation.

Shit was going down.

"Wait! Let me guess," he smiled up with glee, resembling a child. "I _loooooovvvvvveee_ guessing games."

"Doctor White?" The fat Nurse warned. She moved to the other side of the bed where he stood, placing a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. Her move had unintentionally allowed me to view the entire incident.

" _Shhhhhhh,"_ The Joker hushed her aggressively. "You're ruining my focus."

The Doctor made no reply to either of the comments. All his energy was being concentrated on controlling and containing his rage, but his bodily reactions were giving the game away. An ocean of sweat had formed around his pits, being clearly visible through his dark blue scrubs. His tanned hands had also turned white, showing the tight grip he had on the Joker, a hold which would no doubt leave purple bruises on his pastel skin. Of course, the Joker paid no notice on the vice-like grip and carried on with his twisted torments.

"Wife?" He questioned.

The Doctor didn't move. His face was starting to turn purple.

"Nope." The Joker sighed, and then looked at the Doctor's hand for clarification. "Should've known- no wedding ring. Stupid, _stupid!"_ He threw his head forward and backwards in anger with himself, causing it to violently collide with the rigid mattress (he wasn't given the luxury of having a pillow), and the room watched in bewilderment.

He stopped mid-bang, a thought occurring to him.

"Can't be a sibling. _Mommy_ and _Daddy,"_ he mimicked a two-year old, " _wanted their only child to grow up big and important-_ a fucking Doctor _."_ He sneered out the last words, dropping his voice low with disgust.

The Doctor stayed stiff. The tension in the room rose to staggering new heights. And the Joker's eyes widened.

"Oh ho ho!" He chuckled. "No, I got it all wrong. You have siblings. _Lots of them._ You became a Doctor so _Mommy_ and _Daddy_ would notice you and _lurvvvvve you._ How path-e-tic."

The Doctor blinked.

" _Gotcha,"_ The Joker whispered under his breath, though the room was so quiet everybody heard. "What's up Doc? Don't you _uh_ want to tell me how many of your siblings I hurt?"

Then unexpectedly, the Doctor bolted out of the room.

The Nurse's all lunged forward to keep to Joker pinned down to the bed. The poor man didn't get far enough away, and we all clearly heard the slopping sound of his insides being projected onto the floor in front of him. He was close enough that we could even taste the acid that had left his stomach in the air.

Despite the Joker having at the very least a few milliseconds to have attempted escape, when the Doctor first loosened his grip to runaway- he had made no notion to take off. Instead the Joker remained perfectly still, waiting for the sounds of the vomiting to begin howling with insane laughter. And he didn't stop cackling Nurse Johnston sedated him.

"I thought that could kill him!" Cash shouted in protest, springing up off from the bed as the laughter was gently drowned out by a thick and deep slumber.

Her face, creased with deep frown lines, remained impassive, "And I thought your job was to keep control of the Joker."

Cash sat stubbornly back down on my bed, as a child would have who had been given a good scolding. He knew that _that_ time he had been in the wrong, allowing the Joker to go too far with distressing the Doctor.

"He'll be fine." A Nurse reassured Cash, taking pity on his sense of guilt. "The dosage administered should wear off in a few minutes. His hysterics could have torn some of his stitches, so it was probably safer for his body to be put to sleep."

Cash snorted in disbelief.

Nurse Johnston ripped out the remaining IV attached to the Joker and slapped a plaster onto the bleeding vein, "That's the last one. Tighten the restraints."

I watched them buckle him into his bed again. Nurse Johnston made sure to fasten the belts a few notches tighter than beforehand, and caused the Joker's skin to bulge out from the pressure of being constricted. Nurse Johnston hadn't done it to limit his movement completely, but to cause him pain and discomfort. Her hatred for him was growing rapidly especially now that he was awake, his conscious presence annoying her further for being active.

Just as they finished, the Joker began to stir awake.

"Ya _reaaallly_ shouldn't have done that Nurse." His voice was slow and slurred, groggy from the medication.

Johnston didn't respond to the threat and instead pulled out a pocket flashlight. She shown its glaring bulb into the Joker's eyes, holding the lid harshly open with her free hand to check his pupil dilation reaction time. He didn't attempt to blink away the white splodges in his vision as she noted the results on her clipboard which rested on the bedside table, and they were locked in a stare off.

The atmosphere within the room had once again become tense.

Cash decided to step in this time, and broke the edgy silence.

"He needs a wash soon. Can't be taking him to Arkham smelling of his own shit and piss." The Joker made mock looks of offence directed towards Cash but didn't outright disagree. Maybe he knew his stench had gotten out of hand.

The other Nurses froze in fear, none wanting to come into close contact with the Joker again after they had left the room. None of them believed they were getting paid enough for their hard work, and they were a hundred percent right. Especially now they were tasked with a psychotic killer clown to care for.

"Quincy Sharp doesn't care for the state of his inmates." Johnston stated monotonously, still glaring daggers at the Joker who now looked up at her with an innocent smile that was designed to aggravate her. It was doing its job, Johnston had waves of heat emitting from her body.

Cash nearly burst at her reply, already furious as how the days events had gone so far.

" _I do._ When James Gordon personally tells me that he wants _me_ to be the one to make sure the Joker gets to Arkham Asylum safely, by hell I'll do it. And I'll make sure it's done properly. So if I say he needs a wash," Cash's voice lowered. "Somebody better fuckin' give him one."

The Joker laughed like the madman he claimed not to be, "Cash, old man, you do crack me up! And here I was thinking you- _uh_ didn't like me."

"Shut up, clown." Was the singular reply, and the only words Aaron Cash would ever utter to the Joker.

The Nurses retreated from the room silently, heads hung in shame of being defeated by a mere Warden.

* * *

Cash had left hours ago, after seeing that the Joker was getting fed, and not being starved to death. The Nurses mushed up his food in a blender and allowed him to drink it through a straw, to avoid hand feeding him. Cash didn't object to their strategy, and left quickly afterwards in a rush to get home. He paused however, just to make sure that the GCPD officer who covered the night shifts was posted outside the door. He wasn't required to stay in the room, neither was Cash. There wasn't any other doors and there wasn't any windows meaning there was only one exit and entrance. Cash just stayed in the room to keep me company, especially now the Joker was up and active, and to also reassure the hospital staff he was still under restraints.

It wasn't a surprise Gordon liked him so much, he really went above and beyond his duties.

Like all the other nights when my brain couldn't handle the dullness of existing in silence- I had the distinct impression the Joker wasn't in the mood for a friendly chitchat- I switched on the TV and turned it over to _GCN_. The box- it could hardly be classed as anything else- was old, and I guessed from the poor quality of picture- every minute it had a few milliseconds of static interference- that it hadn't been replaced since the hospital introduced televisions onto their wards. The outdated aerial only picked up two channels, _GCN_ and _Kids Korner_ , given the children's channel stopped broadcasting at 6.30 (according to _GCN_ it was now 11.47) and _Sesame Street_ somehow had the insane ability to give me nightmares, I picked _GCN._

"This stupid scaremongering show?" the Joker scoffed in disgust. Apparently he was a man of taste and class now. Most (intelligent) people in Gotham despised the channel due to viewing the majority (actually-all) of reports as yellow journalism rather than factual accounts. It was Gotham's very own _Fox News._

"That's what makes it so entertaining." I stated, my eyes fixed on the latest threat- this one not in the form of a bat, scarecrow, or clown, but rather a jewel thief. According to 'outside sources' somebody has been robbing Gotham's finest of their beloved diamonds. Whoever they were, I wanted to applaud them.

The News Anchors had somehow shifted the report to a debate about bringing make the Death Penalty, as obviously whoever was targeting 'the rich and venerable' deserved capital punishment. This inevitably steered the conversation to the Joker who all citizens of Gotham wanted dead. No influential person cared about Scarecrow's attack, as although he planned to destroy the whole of Gotham, his Fear Gas only was released in the Asylum and parts of The Narrows; areas none of Gotham cared for. But of course the Joker's attacks mostly affected the affluent, especially with the bank robbery, so the whole of Gotham wanted to see him burn.

"Who's she?" The Joker asked, pointing with his head to one of the main Anchor in a bright pink suit and stiletto heels. Her nasally voice and utter lack of knowledge of current affairs made it downright obvious she had only got to her position through fucking to the top. _At least she's intelligent at manipulating men, that's got to count for something,_ I reasoned.

"Stacy Gleeson."

She was currently ranting about how the Joker's death should be public, and maybe even televised- by none other than the _GCN_ of course, and how his death should be made a public holiday to celebrate the end of insanity with masked villains. His fall from power had also resulted in the Bat- who everyone thought was just a vigilante but actually was in liason with the Joker, according to Police Records, and killed the noble Harvey Dent- to go into retirement.

He grinned wickedly, that woman was now at the top of his hit-list if he ever escaped.

It didn't take me long to work out how much he hated to be labeled as 'crazy'; that's what made him truly mad. I'm sane enough to know I'm insane; he's mad enough to believe he's sane.

"I wouldn't mess with her though," I warned. "Rumour has it she's sleeping with Hamilton Hill."

The Joker gave a blank look, I supposed he didn't watch the News often.

"He's a firm favourite to become Mayor given Harvey's out of the running," I explained, realising he was behind on politics since his coma."Hill's under the thumb of Rupert Thorne though. Hill would take an attack on Stacy as a personal attack on his whole criminal underground network, and he wouldn't hesitate to send the whole mob out to kill you."

"Gee, you seem awful concerned for me." He paused, "Tell me, is it my good looks?"

The Joker tilted his head down towards his chest and looked up at me through fluttering eyelashes. I cringed, disgusted at the sight, which only caused him to chuckle in return.

"You happen to be the most entertaining thing that has happened to Gotham since the Bat. Sorry, if I want to see you around a little longer."

"My very own _fan-club_ ," He thought aloud, pondering the idea for a few long seconds. "Well I always _dreamed_ about being a cult leader."

I scoffed, "You can keep dreaming. I'm interested. Not obsessed."

That was maybe a _teeny-weeny_ lie.

He cackled. "Sure thing, pumpkin-pie."

And didn't he know it.

* * *

 **Character Bios**

 **Quincy Sharp- I believe his first appearance is actually in the video game** ** _Arkham Asylum_** **but may be wrong. He is Warden of The Asylum, and not the nicest of characters. Although has a very interesting storyline in the game, he will not feature much in the plot- only by name.**

 **Hamilton Hill- Although portrayed as a good Mayor within the** ** _Animated Series,_** **Hill within the comics he is corrupt and under the influence of Thorne, who helps him get into Office. For the purpose of the story it is this crooked Hill will be depicted.**

 **Rupert Thorne- A councilman who is secretly part of Gotham's Smuggling Network. An influential politician, and skilled manipulator, Thorne wants rid of both Batman and James Gordon.**


	4. Why I Hate Elmo

**Chapter Two and a Half- Why I Hate Elmo**

* * *

 **Author's Note: The chapters labelled '.. and a Half' are not compulsory to read- they don't contribute to the plot, but they add more characterisation to certain characters and give background information. Plus, they are really fun to write!**

 **Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

 _20 years ago._

I sat cross-legged in front of the TV which was perched on top of a cardboard box that looked as if it would collapse at any moment. 'You weren't supposed to sit so close to the TV' the Kindergarten teachers would say, 'you'll get square eyes' they'd say. I didn't care. The closer I sat, the more likelihood Elmo would drag me through the TV and I could live in _Sesame Street_ forever.

 _"Come and play_

 _Everything's A-OK_

 _Friendly neighbors there_

 _That's where we meet."_

The voices on the TV sang. I tried to pay attention but I kept hearing shouting in the Kitchen.

A glass shattered, somebody had thrown it off of a wall again. It was why we were always short on glasses, I thought we should only buy plastic cups- that way they can't break. In Kindergarten they made us drink from plastic blue cups, I think I preferred them.

" _Fired?_ What the _fuck_ do you mean by _fired?!"_ She called out, her voice rising to a feline screech.

"I mean that I don't have a _fucking job_ anymore. What else would I mean?" A low gruff voice answered, he was most terrifying when he didn't shout back. It meant he had been drinking.

I looked to the empty beer cans that lay in a crushed pile in the corner of the room and counted out loud. He had drank seven since I had left for school.

There was a sound of a snort.

 _Maybe she is a pig,_ I thought _, Piglet always worries about things and so does she._ I didn't like Piglet though, he worried too much and spoiled the fun. If I were to choose I'd be Tigger, he _really_ knew how to have a laugh.

"So _you_ think that _I_ will be able to provide for us all? Whilst you laze around drinking all day?" She was getting louder, I couldn't hear Elmo."That's what did it right? You're _fucking_ dependency on alcohol! _"_

All the questions made my head spin.

The teachers gave me in trouble once for using the f-word, they threatened to call my parents. They were going to say to them that I was a bad little girl and they told me Santa wouldn't come, but they didn't- they didn't have my house number. When I told my dad he couldn't say the f-word later that day, he slapped me.

I guessed you could only say it if you were an adult.

His voice lowered again as he spoke, "Get off your high horse. You work as a stripper. That's one step away from a whore, you _bitch._ "

Now she was a dog.

I didn't know any dogs that could ride horses- all the dogs here were scary. One of the dogs on the streets mouth would foam up like the froth in dad's beer. When I tried pet it mommy screamed at me. Then the dog got frightened and tried to bite me so I had to run away.

"You _bastard!"_ she barked. "At least I actually have a _job._ You think it's easy being a mother to a child you never wanted, and having to give up your money to pay for their education? And looking after you too? I'm nearly running a day-care centre!"

Sometimes parents said stuff they didn't mean. That's what my neighbours told me. I didn't believe them.

"I asked if you were on the fucking pill!" This time he shouted, the sound boomed through the floorboards and vibrated the paper thin walls.

"Yeah? And I asked if you were fucking wearing a _condom!"_

Mommy told him that he never forgot to wear one now. That he didn't want another little accident popping out of the oven. I didn't know babies came out of ovens. The book we were reading at school said storks delivered them to friendly households- we knew that wasn't true though. Ivy had been put in a dumpster when she was born. Selina said her house was scary. I knew she was telling the truth cause sometimes she came into school with bruises. The teachers didn't tell anyone though, they were scared of her house too.

I would tell them all the truth about ovens tomorrow.

They were quiet for a bit. But I could hear their ragged breathes. Shouting really knocked the wind out of you. Elmo didn't like arguments, he said 'nobody did.' He also said 'parents love each other'. I think he lied about that too. Just like the book lied about storks and my neighbours lied about parents. You really couldn't trust anything these days.

Dad had said to me that he didn't trust Mom was going to work all those nights. He had told me after he had drunk a few beers alone on her birthday and she was late coming back from her shift. I said I didn't think she was either, she always smelt different when she came home.

This time, she when she spoke- she hissed.

"I _knew_ I should have _fucking stayed_ with Roman."

"Say that again _bitch._ Go on. I _dare_ you."

"I knew I should have-"

She didn't finish.

There was an animalistic screech, higher than any other one I had heard in my life, followed by a colossal bang. I could hear another glass shatter.

I ran through, full speed in my frog pyjamas. And collided into my father's legs which stood by the kitchen doorway.

I felt a warm, wet hand pat down on my head.

"Don't worry," He hushed. "Daddy'll fix this, pumpkin-pie."

When I peeked around the side of his legs, I saw a river flow through on the floor. It was the same colour as Elmo's fur.

I screamed, Daddy started to cry.

In the background, voices sang-

 _"Can you tell me how to get,_

 _How to get to Sesame Street..._

 _How to get to Sesame Street_

 _How to get to... "_


	5. Indebted To A Clown

**Chapter Three- Indebted to a Clown**

Johnston had told him he was scheduled to be transferred at 3.15 the following morning to Arkham, and he had not taken the news lightly.

He spat, hissed and cursed at her, threatening unrepeatable violence's that he would bestow on her when he escaped; violence's so severe they would have made even James Gordon quiver with fear. Not Nurse Johnston though. She left the room with a smug smile on her face, and the Joker was left in his bed red faced and panting heavily from rage. He hadn't found her pressure point yet, and it was beginning to infuriate him.

I could've told him that her dead husband was her weakness, but that would have been far too easy. Besides, he wouldn't have liked me giving the game away. He lived for a challenge. And Johnston's tough exterior was the only thing preventing his thoughts from straying back to fulfilling his promise of torturing me- I wasn't going to ruin my only chance of escaping from the hospital unscathed.

He directed his anger at me when he noticed my stare, "Say something. I dare you."

I hesitated before telling him what I was thinking about. It had been relaying on my mind for the past few days now, but I wasn't sure if it would be appreciated. But with the Joker, you never could tell.

Yesterday, I had told him that Batman had retired- the news told everyone that he was on the run from Gordon's men after he had murdered the virtuous Harvey Dent. The Joker was supposed to be pleased with the news given most of Gotham thought they were nemesis', but he wasn't. He seethed, burning holes into my head as if I had been the one who ordered Batman to be hunted down like a feral dog.

I guessed that the tabloids were true- perhaps the Joker and Batman were in alliance all along.

It seemed a little far fetched though. After all, why would Batman beat him to a pulp if the whole time they were in unison? Nothing in Gotham was ever straightforward, everything was as twisted as the people who lived in it.

I decided to tell him. I had nothing else better to do with my time.

"In Japan, they accidentally caught this huge Great White Shark- you know? And instead of letting it go free to terrorise all the seals, or killing it right then and selling its body parts to be put in soup, or make into those stupid shark-tooth necklaces- the ones surfers love- they sold it to an aquarium."

The Joker stared at me blankly, confusion taking over his rage and diluting it's poison down into oblivion.

I took his silence as a sign to continue, "SeaWorld once tried to keep a Great White, but they released it sixteen days later. Monterey Bay Aquarium managed to beat this record, holding a Great White for one hundred and ninety-eight days before having to release it. MBA kept five other Great White, each one had to get released, and then they stopped. They fed some bullshit story to the press about public pressure, but the truth is animals like that can't be captured.

"Orcas are similar. When they get captured their fin flops over, and they go mad. Hell. Some go crazy enough that they kill their trainers. Great Whites go a step further. They'll swim into glass to hurt themselves. They'll even refuse to eat. The Shark in Japan? They managed to keep it for three days. Then it died."

The Joker frowned, "What's the _uh_ point of all this?"

I couldn't tell if his eyes help a flicker of annoyance or faint amusement at the randomness of my speech. I supposed that it was the former- it was doubtful the Joker cared much about any animal other than Bats.

"The point is," I sighed, irritated with myself for wasting my breath on somebody who wasn't interested. "That some animals aren't meant to be contained. Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?"

His face morphed from blankness into his signature grin.

"If you wanted to say you'd help me escape you could've just come out and said it." He rolled his eyes to the back of his head causing his eyelids to flicker rapidly, and he licked his scars. "I didn't need a whole metaphoric allegory about sharks."

I snapped, shifting my anger at myself onto him.

" _Help you?"_ I scoffed, feeling my eyes bulge out of their sockets. "I was taking pity on you! I don't give a flying-"

" _PITY!"_ He roared.

My mouth snapped shut, and I looked at him expecting to be faced with a psychotic wrath of fury for the unwanted empathy. Instead I was met with the opposite.

The Joker had tears streaming down his face from choking on his laughter. Real tears. It was enough to mistake anyone into believing the psycho could feel anything other than anger and hate. But at that moment I didn't care. I felt a flood of heat as my face turned red from embarrassment, which soon altered into resentment- both at myself for revealing my feelings, but mainly at him from finding them so hilarious.

I figured I was the first person to ever feel sympathy for the Devil, and now I wanted to take it all back and shove it up his-

An unfamiliar Guard slammed the door open with the sole of his foot, and it banged loudly against the wall- silencing the laughter as the Joker turned his head to look at the new figure with faint curiosity. I learnt a few things to be true about the Joker from sleeping in the same room as him- it never took him long to get bored. He was like a spoilt toddler. As soon as something new and shinier came along, all his interest shifted and he forgot all about his old toys which now lay on the dirt. I wasn't complaining though. It meant when we finally parted ways he'd forget all about me and our time together in a matter of minutes. It meant I would survive.

His new toy's face was contorted with annoyance, and the scar which ran from his eyebrow and ended above his cheekbone helped to magnify his clear irritation. I supposed that the scar made him constantly look tough and angry, or perhaps that was just his personality judging from the fact he was holding onto a black pistol tightly and naturally, as if it was an extension of his hand.

"What's with all the noise?" The stranger's voice was gruff from smoking too many cigarettes and drinking cheap booze. My dad's voice had been the same.

"Who are you?" I asked Authoritative figures always made me instantly suspicious, it was a side effect from growing up in the Narrows.

From my bed near the corner of the room I could smell the overpowering odour of bourbon, a smell I was deeply familiar with growing up. He had been drinking recently and was still slightly intoxicated, although his big build meant it hardly affected his movement- it still affected his behaviour.

He was an angry drunk- yet another thing I was familiar with growing up.

My father would have gotten along with this man.

The Guard ignored me and repeated his first question, this time louder and more aggressively- "What's with all the noise?"

"I heard a very funny joke." The Joker grinned, his eyes momentarily bouncing back to me before investigating this newer, more entertaining toy who looked like a life-sized Action Man- complete with the facial scar.

The Guard looked between the two of us, his frustration growing. He was hoping we'd give him a fight- that much was evident. A lot of officers and wardens choose their job in Gotham for the blood lust. They could get just as much action as they would on the streets, only they'd be getting it completely legally and without consequences. That was one of the main reasons nobody in the Narrows trusted them, we were easy pickings- nobody cared if we went missing. It wasn't hard to tell that he was one of those kinds. I had a radar for them, and currently it was flailing red.

He hesitated before putting his gun back into his holster, but knew it was the right decision in case he got tempted to use it- and he was already tempted enough.

"Keep it down. I don't get paid enough for this shit." His angry eyes flicked between the two of us, daring us to test him. The Joker was staying eerily quiet, still examining the new man. Something about him, which was invisible to me, had peaked his interest greatly.

I took his challenge, the public nature of the hospital had given me confidence. If I was on the street, I'd probably have bolted from the scene.

"Where's Cash?" I demanded, trying to mirror his harsh tones. Without a deep voice it was difficult to sound menacing, I just came across like a snappy chihuahua which was far too big for its boots.

His cold gaze deepened, he wasn't expecting the rise especially not from me. "Dealing with a reptile problem. Gordon's allowed him to take a break from playing caretaker."

My eyebrows lowered- what did _reptiles_ have to do with anything?

The stranger saw my confusion and smirked, satisfied to know something I didn't. It was as if I was back in a playground and he was chanting 'I know something you don't know', completely immature but was successful in pissing me off. I looked towards the Joker whose face remained expressionless, perhaps _he knew._

The Guard turned to leave but the Joker's comment caused him to pause.

"If you're ever in need of a pay rise- you know where to find me!" He chortled.

The nameless Guard slammed the door shut on his way out, the sound vibrating the wall and shaking the TV.

" _Reptile problem?"_ I hissed, annoyed about being out of the loop.

The Joker made the motion of a shrug- due to his constraints he could only jerk his shoulder blades a centimetre or two high.

"I think Cash must be investi-gator-ing something."

I looked at him in disbelief as he grinned wickedly at me, he was _definitely_ hiding something.

* * *

The Nurses brought the Joker in some morphine on a drip which allowed him to control how much he felt he needed, which would limit the amount of visits they had to pay him as they didn't have to constantly ask how his pains were doing. Ever since the 'Doctor White Puking Incident', all Nurses- but Johnston, of course- were on high alert for Joker's torments. If he so much as coughed they'd flee from the room, scared they would suffer the same fate. Originally, it had been amusing to watch his hold over the weak-minded Nurses, but now it had grown old and I had become disgusted at their patheticness rather than amused.

The Joker hadn't given himself any morphine yet, despite every so often letting out a few grunts and wheezed from his cracked ribcage- his pain tolerance was through the roof, and I was eyeing the bag up jealously.

I stared at the crystal clear liquid in the bag, and fantasied about how easy it would be just to reach over with my free hand and take it. The drug was like a siren, and deep down I knew I would have to get control over my acute addiction before it sang me to shipwreck.

"You've uh, got a little bit of drool." The Joker snapped me out of imagination and back into reality.

"What? Um." I wiped my free hand across my mouth, stupidly checking for spit.

Of course, he had lied- there wasn't any drool. My angry gaze caused him to erupt into more giggles.

"You know," He started after he had calmed down again. "I knew there was something fishy about my pain when I woke up. I didn't think the Nurses here were satanic enough to deny a sick man his medicine. But I never expected there to be a Morphine Thief in the hospital!"

"Shut up." I looked down, feeling guilty about my dirty habit. I didn't give a shit about causing him pain- my guilt was purely self-centred.

Druggies is Gotham were the lowest of the low. They were street rats who lived in squalor to pay for their insatiable need, they were vermin who would kill their own family for a fix. And I desperately did not want to join their ranks, or even be classed as one. The only people looked down upon more than junkies, were snitches. I couldn't have allow my family to have a prostitute, a snitch, and a druggie, in it. I was far too proud, even if they weren't. At least not anymore.

He ignored me, as always, and continued. "By denying you what you want most but shouldn't have- I'm actually doing you a favour. You should be thankful. In fact, I think you owe me."

"I don't owe you jack shit," I spat, defiant. "Besides, who said I wanted it? Cause I don't."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" He tsked. "You looked at that bag, like some of my men look at the whores on the street corner. _It ain't pretty._ Get a hold of your addiction, before it gets a hold of you."

"I don't have an-"

He hushed me, grinning like a buffoon which was fitting I supposed.

I never thought a day would come where I'd be receiving lifestyle advice from a clown.

My pride meant I would refuse to admit to anyone (especially the Joker) that I had a problem, but the truth was that it had become an issue. My back was cold with sweat from withdrawal symptoms, and it didn't help the drug I craved was within reaching distance. My mind replayed the fantasy where I took the thing I was yearning for on a loop. It was giving me a migraine, and I needed my full wits about me whilst I dealt with the sadist in the bed a few metres away from mine.

The clown didn't speak again for a while, but when he did his voice was softer and edging towards sympathetic. His shift in nature was completely unnerving. He was up to something, anybody would be smart enough to work that out. Compassion wasn't in his vocabulary.

"So why'd ya do it?" He asked.

My eyes narrowed from lack of trust, "Well I was bored, and it was in the room."

He rolled his eyes in return, slow and dramatic. "Not take _my_ morphine. Why'd you try off yourself?"

"Oh!" I stumbled, nobody- not even the Doctors- had asked me this question. I was completely caught off guard.

Most people can't be bothered hearing a depressing sob story, not when they're so focussed on their own lives. Who cared about the lonely girl who wanted to die? Not one soul. But apparently the Joker was interested, maybe from boredom or- I was stumped. I honestly had no idea why he wanted to know.

"Don't spare any of the gory details- I _live_ for that kind of thing."

 _Morbid fascination,_ I concluded.

I contemplated not telling him. He was probably trying to manipulate me, especially now he knew that some sick and twisted sense of sympathy had brewed up inside of me. But then again, I was bored- he was bored. We might as well attempt to have a conversation, right?

So with my common sense scrambled like an egg from my mind needing a fix, I idiotically decided it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I told him. How naive I was.

"I did it cause I hate the Wayne Family."

Silence.

"Err- what?" It was the Joker's turn to be stumped, my statement was completely out-of-the-blue even a psychic would have been baffled.

I explained it for him, my voice not bothering to hide the bitter resentment I felt inside which had grown so strong it would have been futile to mask anyway. Hatred has a pungent scent, and dogs like the Joker had the noise to sniff it right to the source.

"Well the _wonderful_ Wayne Foundation decided last year to help redevelop the roughest areas in the Narrows- to 'give back to society'." my tone had become mocking. "Their redevelopment plan includes free Health Care for the citizens living in the area. So I attempted to off myself to stack up their Bills."

The Joker hesitated for a moment before letting out a laugh, but it wasn't a mad man's laugh like his others- it was one of disbelief. "You're kidding right? That's the stupidest thing I've heard."

"You asked." I said, my face reddening again with anger. At this rate I'd probably end up dying from a stroke due to the Joker, rather than attempting to slit my wrists again. Not that the thought had crossed my mind again, I had done it in a fit of rage. I took my survival as evidence that my fury shouldn't be directed towards myself, it was meant for something much bigger. And only I knew exactly what it was.

But I should've know the Joker wouldn't take it seriously.

"Alright, alright!" He calmed down quickly, wanting to hear the whole story before I changed my mind. "So what's with the dislike? I thought all _common_ people of Gotham, just _loved_ The Wayne Foundation."

Common people- he meant scum. Everybody thought the Wayne's were the Saint Francis of Gotham- giving freely to the needy. It was utter bullshit. The only way that Martha and Thomas Wayne were similar to St Francis of Assisi, was that they too are dead.

"I can't stand it! They run around under the farce that they're trying to save Gotham's most deprived by hosting extravagant fundraisers, when the real motive behind the campaign is to make business connections with the other rich and powerful people of Gotham. The whole system is corrupt, only the rich stay in power and that leaves the-"

He cut me off, again. "Don't lie to me, _girlie._ Why do you really hate the Wayne's? It better not be something lame. I swear if you say it's because that Playboy Billionaire dumped you, I'll slit your throat myself for time-wasting- given you are incapable of even killing yourself successfully."

I ignored the mischievousness that lurked under his eyes, he stared down to my bandaged wrist aching to break open the stitches which lay throbbing underneath.

"I'd never go near that disease-infested prick!" I spat.

"Good to know, I'll note it down for the record." He rolled his eyes beginning to get bored of the conversation. "Tell me now, or don't bother."

I found myself now actually wanting to tell him the whole story.

It might have been some reverse psychology trick he did, but I figured it was maybe just because I needed to get the weight of it off my shoulders- it had been suffocating me for years. Not once in my life had I told anybody. If I was going to start now, why couldn't the first person I confide in be the Joker?

 _Jesus Christ,_ I was truly going off my rockers.

"The Wayne's killed my father."

The Joker's interest peaked, and he tried to sit up further in his bed but the restraints held him down. " _Say what?_ The kind, generous Wayne Family murdered your daddy?"

I paused before continuing, "Have you heard of Joe Chill?"

The Joker thought for a few seconds, the name rung bells in all of Gotham's civilians. "Eh- wasn't _he_ the person who killed the Wayne's?"

"Yeah. But-"

"The petty crook, who tried snitching of Falcone to get off the hook. Wasn't he 'done in' by the Mob? This is the same guy we're talking about, right?" The Joker frowned bemused.

That was my father- the snitch.

My mother was the whore.

And I am the druggie. It was one messed up family we had become. We could all star in a Scorsese film.

I grimaced, "Yeah. But- just listen!"

"So," He continued, purposely ignoring my protest- rubbing salt in the open wound that had already been festering for years. "It wasn't the Wayne's who killed your Pops. He hung the noose himself, trying to turn against the Mob for a reduced sentence. That's suicide."

"No, listen!" I nearly shouted, my voice raised high and desperate- I wanted him to believe the story, so I could believe it. "This guy called Sionis-"

"What kind of name is ' _Sionis'_?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I answered it anyway.

"It's a surname. His first name's Roman."

"That's even worse!" The Joker chuckled.

"Look, his name doesn't matter. The point is Sionis knew my parents- he's helped my dad out countless times. After my dad died he told me it wasn't anything to do with Falcone, the Mob didn't give a shit about him since some hotshot Maroni rose in the ranks- that it was the remaining Wayne who organised the whole hit."

"Really?" The Joker raised his eyebrow mockingly, not buying into a word of it. "That Bruce boy is more concerned with banging his way through all the beautiful- _uh_ and elite woman of Gotham to bother with avenging Daddy and Mommy Dearest."

"Well," I blinked furiously. "Someone in the Wayne Corporation was behind it!"

This time the clown let me have some breathing space before he continued.

It was a good thing he did, otherwise I would have blown up. I no longer cared that he was a homicidal killer, I just wanted a victim to vent out and pin all my pent up wrath on. For years I had become a ticking time bomb, and I knew I was reaching my expiry date.

"Let me guess- Sionis was also the guy who convinced your dad to turn against the mob?"

"Maybe. Yeah." I admitted, giving him a hard glare.

I was bracing myself for his next taunt, ready to take the bait and fight back full force. It was mayhem and conflict that the clown lived for, and I was going to give him a dose of it back. _Let's see how he likes it._

"I just think _babe,_ you've been swindled." He said casually, finishing off with a lick of his scar.

I'd realised every time his tongue ran across him mutated face it meant he was looking for a fight- something to liven up this dull and boring hospital existence.

"How so?" My voice remained neutral, but my hands gripped onto the mattress like talons. _I was going to claw this bastard's face right off._

The Joker's eyes began to dart over the room from the tense atmosphere brewing, he was getting excited. My stomach clenched, I was ready for the next hit.

"I think Sionis sold your Pa out to the Sharks. Course the Mob was going to act against somebody speaking against them- they have a reputation to maintain. And you believing it was the Wayne's that caused helped you both out.

"He didn't have some crazy- believe me, you are one hell of firecracker; I know crazy when I see it- suicidal girl running after him. And you! Well, you got off the hook to believe it wasn't Pappy's stupidity that got him killed. That it was foul play. Which," He tried to shrug again but the binds wouldn't loosen. "It kinda was. But ultimately- Daddy cemented his own shoes to go sleeping with the fishes."

I tried lunging out of the bed, my free hand ready to rip out his throat.

 _That fucker's face was mine!_

The sharp pain of my handcuffed arm holding me into place, prevented me from fulfilling my fantasy. I yelled out in frustration. This time the guard didn't rush through the door, he was probably didn't care. I refused to breakdown- god forbid I cry- in front of the Joker. So instead, I started directly into his eye's- nearly frothing. The charcoal eye's held the gaze without flinching. They didn't look dead this time- they seemed amused. His mouth shifted into a large Cheshire grin when I withdrew the contact and focused intensely on staring at the ceiling above me.

"I believe that's twice you owe now."

When I finally was released I didn't know who I'd kill first- _The Joker_ who had ruined my whole plot of vengeance, or that murderous, traitorous bastard who had brought me into all this mess, _Sionis._

My bets were placed on the latter.

* * *

 **Character Bios**

 **Joe Chill- The man who murders Thomas and Martha Wayne, who in this story is also the father of the OC (who is yet to be named). Chill is dead however after being whacked off by the Mob for trying to try on their old Kingpin, Falcone, who in** _The Dark Knight,_ **is succeeded by Maroni, who is now also dead- killed by Harvey Dent (who too is now dead, from being pushed into a deep pit by Batman- yeah, I know- Batman broke his One Rule. But I mean, I guess we can ignore it like we all did in** _Batman Begins (_ **with Ra's Al Ghul) and just say it was really Gravity that killed Two Face.)**

 **Roman Sionis- Better known as the villain Black Mask. He hates the Wayne's, and although in the comics it is Bruce he hates for buying out his company, I have adapted his timeline so it is Bruce's parents he hates instead. His story will be featured in Chapter 4-** ** _Hail Caesar,_** **so I shan't reveal any spoilers.**

 **Author's Note**

 **Sorry guys! Wasn't the best chapter I know, but is pretty essential to the plot. Anyways, still I hoped you enjoyed it. And I promise the next chapter will make up for it.**


	6. Cash, The Professional Investi-gator

**Chapter Three And A Half- Cash, The Professional Investi-gator.**

 **(3rd Person)**

* * *

 **Author's Note**

 **I wasn't too happy with the last chapter, but I guarantee this one makes up for it! I'm dedicating this chapter to** carolinevk19 **for being so nice with her reviews, can't thank her enough for encouraging me to write. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean he _escaped_?" He shouted down the phone, his hand shook with anger and fear. He licked some of the sweat off of his upper lip.

The phone crackled, and the monotonous voice of William North replied, "He hasn't escaped. We know he's somewhere in the sewage tunnels below Arkham. All exits are covered so he won't be able to leave the area."

North's droning voice gave the illusion of calmness; mentally he was freaking out just as much as Cash.

"That's not good enough. We need a whole Squad Team. Heck- we _need_ the Bat." Cash had begun pacing. His neighbours down below were awoken by the sounds of heavy boots colliding with the uncarpeted floorboards, but they wouldn't dare complain- like most people, his metal hook terrified them.

"Gordon's sending out guys. Listen, you just deal with the Joker, and I'll deal with this situation. Keep your phone on you. I'll call once it's fixed."

"Fuck that!" Cash spat. "I ain't babysitting no-one, not whilst that _creature_ is on the loose!"

North sighed into his receiver, he was under a whole load of pressure- from the inmates, the staff, the Police, Sharp, and now Cash. He had thought Cash was the one member of his team he could depend on, clearly in this instance it wasn't the case.

"Alright. I'll give Gordon a ring." North broke from the pressure.

There was a sound of a _click,_ as North hung up before letting Cash answer.

Cash waited, staring at the scratched blue cell phone in his hand. Phones were for practical uses only, Cash couldn't give a damn about the newest upgrades- so long as it did its duty he was happy with it. He could see the sweat from on his hand imprinted onto its rubber case. Cash wiped the cool liquid off his face with his forearm which held his hook.

Sometimes he forgot it was there. Sometimes he thought he could feel the nerves in the lost hand again.

If it was up to him- he'd put down the animal who did it to him. The judge didn't agree, but his fellow warden's did. Everybody would have turned a blind eye if something _had_ happened- they had all done it before. But Cash refused. Cash wasn't going to have vengeance, that was for the weak fueled with anger and spite- Cash was going to have justice. And that meant doing everything by the book. If the animal wasn't destined to die, Cash would let him live- but he'd give him one hell of a time.

The phone vibrated, and Cash nearly jumped from the shock- the empty room had filled with a thick and intense anticipation all from the one sole person standing within it.

"Boles will cover your shift. Come _now_."

The sound of the _click_ was heard again, but this time Cash wasn't offended. He didn't have time to be offended. When the _click_ was heard, Cash was already halfway out of the door.

* * *

It was 5:32 when Cash sped through the front gates of Arkham Asylum and sprinted to the Main Hall to meet North.

It had taken him a record breaking twelve minutes to drive from his flat to his work, a ride which usually took over half an hour. He had cut every traffic light possible, and broken every speed limit in the city- an action which would result in his driving licence being suspended for three months once the traffic wards who had seen his dangerous driving were able to identify his licence plate from the speed camera footage. But at this moment, Cash didn't care.

"What took you so long?" North asked, his foot tapping away impatiently. A small army of fourteen men equipped in riot gear surrounded him.

 _Those clothes won't do jack shit protect them_ , thought Cash sinisterly. But he knew it to be true, he after all had first-hand experience. No pun intended.

Cash ignored North's comment and asked where the Tasers were, he could only see the guards holding hand sized metal batons.

"We can't use Tasers. The Sewage pipes contain too much water. We fry him, we'll fry ourselves." One of the men explained, his voice muffled slightly under his heavy helmet.

Cash cursed, the acidic taste of bile was felt on his tongue.

Electric shocks were their only method for effectively dealing with Killer Croc. Bullets bounced off his thick and scaled skin like they would with an Armadillo, his sheer strength meant physical beatings were futile (unless of course, they were distributed by the Batman), and talking to him was impossible as the man was more of an animal than a human. A reason Cash would feel no qualms about putting an end to him.

"So what's the plan?" Cash asked, now apprehensive of the answer he would receive.

"Quincy Sharp wants a group sent down to the sewers to sedate him." North answered, his eye roll revealing what his monotonous voice didn't- he found the idea absurd.

Cash nearly choked, "He wants to send people into _Croc's liar?_ That's fuckin' suicidal. _"_

"We can't let him remain in the sewers." North reasoned, trying to get the men behind Sharp's plan although he didn't believe it would work- however, nobody else had come up with a better idea yet, so they might as well go with it. "He could try break out at any of the exits. Or worse. He might sneak up out of any one of the drain pipes in the Asylum and start picking us off one-by-one."

The thought was terrifying.

The men's eyes all uncomfortably shifted towards the nearest drain that stood not ten feet away, and they shivered, unnerved.

"Listen, Gordon's given us twelve hours to deal with this before he warns the Press of a missing inmate. I suggest we get to work before that happens and Quincy fires all of our asses." North spoke, his voice rising breaking its usual tedious nature, and his out of place character worked well to motivate the men who looked like they'd all sooner kill themselves than face the fate of death through the Croc.

"Where'd I suit up?" Cash asked, deciding it was better to be safe than sorry- even if he knew the outfit was going to be of no use.

* * *

"So we split up, right?"

Cash gave the Warden a dumbfounded stare which was lost under the thick plastic of their helmets, "You're having a laugh, right?"

 _It's no wonder white people are always the first to die in horror films,_ he thought perplexed at the very idea. Lions separated the herd of grazing gazelles during hunts. They picked targeted the weak, then and ate them. Killer Croc did the same thing. Separating the group meant the Croc could pick them all off one-by-one. It meant that nobody stood a chance of staying alive.

"It'll take less time." Another Warden reasoned, he shifted in his boots and heard the squelch of human faeces move below his feet.

Everybody was desperate to get out of the Sewers as fast as possible, the smell was near-unbearable, and it didn't help that somewhere, lurking in these tunnels, was a Cannibal Crocodile. But to split up would be suicidal. If they even had a chance of survival, it would have to be together.

"Listen, I know this Croc first hand," He flashed his hook at the group, and was oblivious to the pun he accidently created- nobody would have dared laugh, even if it had been intentional Cash was too intense to be joked with. "So if I say 'we stick together', then that's what we do."

But the crew ignored Cash and split themselves into five groups of three. Cash's group contained the two lankest and weakest men in the troop. He vocally cursed his rotten luck, partially wishing that he has chosen to stay playing babysitter to the psychotic clown.

His thoughts wandered momentarily to the girl who lay in the same room as the Joker. Maybe when she got better and was released from the mental institute she was heading for, he might ask her out on a date. That was- if he got out of this alive.

Cash still didn't know her name, despite asking repeatedly. She wouldn't give it to him until he told her what happened to his hand, he refused, not wanting to scare her about the kind of people she might meet in an Asylum. Although quiet, she definitely wasn't shy, and it was this unexpected boldness that helped attract Cash in- most people didn't dare ask him about his missing hand. Of course, it did help that despite her greasy, limp, blonde hair from the lack of washing, she was pretty, _really_ pretty. But Cash's was too stubborn to believe he went for women based on their looks, rather than personality. Especially because he wasn't much of a looker himself.

The small group walked in a triangular formation, Cash in front and the two weaklings behind. Cash kept his flashlight fixed on the defecated floor knowing when (it wasn't a question of 'if') Croc was going to attack he'd begin with a surprise.

Cash grimaced, knowing the Croc was lurking somewhere under the mountains of shit and he was probably loving it- smelling their intoxicating aroma of fear.

"Crap! What was that?" A Guard behind swung his light at the wall of the tunnel, hearing a light scampering of feet. A line of six large rats scuttled past in a hurry. The two weaklings breathed out a sigh of relief, their heart pounding erratically out of their chests.

Cash froze, causing the two others to stumble to a halt. He turned round, and pushed past them, heading in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Where you off to?" The other Guard asked, angry the path being shifted wasn't a group decision.

Still, they both reluctantly followed- feeling safer with the hooked survivor than without.

Cash's pace had increased and so had his dialogue as he spoke, "Rodents can smell the odours carnivores produce. That way they can avoid becoming a light snack. It's how they've survived so long. And will probably be around, even when humans aren't."

"So we're heading _towards_ the danger?" This time the two Guards stopped completely, not liking the sound of facing off with the Croc. The reason they had agreed with splitting up was that they had both figured it lowered their likelihood of meeting him, and allowed another troop to do the hard work. Cash however, wasn't letting them off the hook so easily. Again, no pun intended.

Cash whipped around furiously to face the deserters, "We gotta meet up with the others. They're going to need our help."

"But," the one who had nearly shat his pants when he saw the rats hesitated, "I mean- we don't _know_ that for sure. For all we know-"

As if on cue, their walkie-talkies all sounded a deep and guttural groan. All of the trio's faces drained of colour.

"Hello? Come in?" Cash spoke into the microphone, sensing nobody else would.

The receiver clicked again, and heavy breathes were heard. Finally a voice hissed out, slowly and violently-

 _"I've got yourrrrr sssscent, Aaaaaaarrrron Caaasssshhh. I will hunt you down."_

There was a sound of a snap, and the transmission ended- but they could all hear the scream that followed. The piercing pitch echoed off the walls and stopped mid-breath. Whoever they were, they were dead- along with the two others who accompanied him.

"Holy shit, HOLY SHIT!" The rat spotter Guard started hyperventilating from fear, and Cash himself began feeling the first flush of panic taking control of his body.

"Calm down! The more afraid you are, the stronger our scent becomes." Cash warned, but he could feel his own teeth chatter against each other. He was just as scared as them both, he was just better at concealing it and trying to lock it away deep down within himself.

"Fuck that!" The other Guard shouted, his voice boomed off of the walls and down all the tunnels. His eyes burst and this time when he opened his mouth he whispered, not wanting Killer Croc to find them, "I ain't dying surrounded by shit. I don't give a flying fuck about getting fired no more. I tell you I ain't dying covered in shit."

The rat spotter Guard nodded along to his peer, too frightened to open his mouth. If he had spoken, he would have thrown up.

"Least the Police won't be able to tell if it's your own or the sewage." Cash deadpanned. They both looked like they were away to shit themselves. Cash wouldn't have judged them if they had, when he had faced off the Croc alone he had nearly pissed himself.

The Guard didn't retort against the comment, too desperate to escape.

"Listen, I says we all just get the fuck out of here. Let some other bastard, who has a bigger salary deal with this kind of shit. I tell you, if we's all get out of here- I'm suing that asshole Sharp. This right here is workers violation, this is-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Cash growled, the Guard's voice was getting louder by the minute and they were in open hunting grounds.

"Where's North- huh? You'd think since he was one of us he'd be down here with us." the Guard's voice turned into a low hiss, he thought Cash was defending the people who ran the establishment. The Asylum Guards only ever agreed on two matters- an attack on one of them was an attack on all of them, and the people at the top of the chain were all bastards.

North wasn't one of these bastards though, at least no Guard had classed him as one before. But with the rise of new villains like Scarecrow and the Joker, tensions had been brewing within the system- and this was only the beginning.

Cash stood up for his colleague, "North's trying to make sure Sharp and Gordon are kept under control so we all still have a job to go back to tomorrow."

If North didn't work out how Croc escaped soon, they'd all be fired. Inmate escapes had more repercussions on the Guards than inmate mistreatment investigations.

"By this rate we'll all be _dead_ tomorrow."

Cash folded, not having the mentality for bickering. "Listen, you want to leave- I ain't stopping you. You guys are just dead weight to me anyways."

"What? You ain't coming with? He's after _you."_ the panicked guard asked, finally having collecting the last of his remaining wits.

Cash shook his head and his eyes hardened with reminiscing, "Nah. Me and the Croc have a score to settle."

They parted ways almost immediately, not bothering with the pleasantries of farewells. The two Guards scampering off in a hurry to find the drain they entered the pipes from which was only a few tunnels away.

Despite Cash loathing their utter lack of dignity, and them both being overpowered by fear (one of the greatest weaknesses known to man, Cash believed), he hoped in his heart that they'd get out safely. Cash believed nobody, no matter how flawed, deserved death by Killer Croc, especially not in a sewage system. And he would be _damned_ if he allowed himself to die surrounded by faeces.

The two men didn't escape however.

The two men took a wrong turn and became lost in the system. Their panicked bickering and sweaty aroma traveled through the channels, and led Killer Croc right to them. The Croc snuck up on them and they hadn't had the time to call out in fright as their jugulars were ripped out from their throats.

Unbeknownst to Cash, he was the sole remaining Guard alive in the tunnels. Two groups of three had made a quick exit after the radio transmission, and the other eight had all been picked off by the Croc. Cash stood, his back against the wall of a dead-ended tunnel. He knew it meant chances of escape would be impossible when the Croc showed his face, but he also knew it meant he wouldn't die from a surprise attack.

In his hand, he clutched onto a tranquiliser.

Heavy, webbed feet pounded off of the brick flooring, and Croc turned the corner eyeing up his next meal.

"I wonder if the resssssst of you will tassssssste as goooood aaaaaassss your hand." Killer Croc threatened, smacking his lips together- ready for his next meal. He'd already had starters and his main course- he was ready for dessert.

The green monster stood slumped nine feet high, his back was humped from an excess growth of scales which sheer weight caused his body to become permanently slouched. His skin condition had also altered the natural growth of muscles causing all of his to bulge out, rubbing against his hard scaly skin. If he wasn't so damn ugly and _green,_ he would've made an excellent body builder.

Killer Croc's strength wasn't the only thing people had to watch out for- it was his teeth. They were long, narrow but most importantly, sharp. With one bite a person could lose an entire limb. Cash's hand was living proof of it. His fangs tore through flesh and bone, as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Croc didn't spit out the ripped off chunk of human tissue, however- no, he ate it. And what was worse- he enjoyed the taste of human meat. It was possible that he liked consuming the one thing he could never have, a normal human body. But the truth behind why he enjoyed eating humans so much would never be fully revealed; he had the tendency to end up devouring his psychologists whenever they got too personal with him.

"Can't say I want you to find out." Cash replied, his voice quavering slightly. Cash could handle any freak in the Asylum but Killer Croc wasn't just a freak- he was an animal. For Cash, the Croc made villains like the Joker and Scarecrow seem like the Tooth fairy, but he was determined to face his fear, and end this feud once and for all.

Without warning Killer Croc charged, barring his teeth.

Cash clocked him with his hook, the metal tearing into Killer Croc's eyes causing him to become blinded. With one swipe of his talon, Cash flew into an adjacent wall the force managed to split the riot helmet in half. _At least that wasn't my head,_ Cash thought between ragged breathes. His outfit _had_ done something to protect him.

Blood started to pour from his mouth. The impact had cracked one of his ribs which in turn punctured his left lung. But his broken rib cage was nothing in comparison to the pain of having your hand bitten off right before your very eyes.

Cash quickly inspected the needle which was still held tightly in his grip, it was still intact.

"I may not be able to ssssssee you, Casssshhhh," The Croc turned around, revealing to Cash his bleeding eye sockets which spluttered red droplets onto the brown floor below. "But I can tassssssste your blood in the air."

His evolved senses picked Cash up from the floor, and held him against the wall roughly.

Cash's feet dangled off of the floor, and he was limp in the reptile's hands as if he were a ragdoll. Cash spat blood in the creature's face as an act of defiance but, just as the Joker had done with the Doctor's sweat, Killer Croc licked it off with his serpent-like tongue.

"I'm going to enjoy thissssss." Killer Croc declared, sniffing his catch before widening his jaws preparing himself for the big bite.

"Not as much as I'm going to enjoy this!"

Cash plunged the miraculously unbroken needle into the Croc's wounded eye, and quickly injected its contents into the socket.

In pain, Killer Croc stumbled backward dropping Cash like a pile of bricks onto the floor. Cash choked out in pain, more blood spurted out from his mouth as he coughed.

Killer Croc tore through the air blindly, his unseeing eyes trying to swipe at Cash to tear his body limb for limb. But it was of no use. And within seconds, the tranquiliser had done its job and Killer Croc was out cold.

Cash weakly pulled out his walkie-talkie, and transmitted a message out to the Warden's above.

"Killer Croc's out," Breathing had become hard from the blood filling up his mouth, and he spoke in rough stilted words. "Under North Wing. Come get-"

He hadn't managed to finish is sentence before he let the darkness consume him.

* * *

 **Character Bios**

 **William North- he appears first in the game** ** _Arkham Asylum_** **as a security guard member who follows Quincy Sharp's orders.**

 **Frank Boles- another character's whose first appearance is in the game** ** _Arkham Asylum,_** **he appeared as the unknown Guard in Chapter 3. His character will be explored more in depth in the upcoming chapters. Hint- he isn't a good guy..**


	7. Hail Caesar

**Author's Note** **\- can't thank everybody enough for the reviews! Honestly, they make my day. I hope everybody enjoys this chapter, sadly it doesn't have the Joker but don't worry- he'll feature really heavily in the next two chapters coming up! They should actually be published quite soon since I've written half of them already and I have my Easter Break coming up in a week- yes, why it's after Easter Sunday makes no sense to me either. As always enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four- Hail Caesar**

 **(Third Person)**

Roman Sionis sat rigid in his plump leather chair within his office. Half a glass of thirty year old Glenfiddich was held tightly in his right hand, which lay stiffly on his arm rest.

Truth be told, he hated whiskey- it's flavour was overpowering and it's stale aroma lingered on his palate for hours after a mere sip. But he liked for his enemies and acquaintances- Sionis didn't have friends- to believe he was a man of taste. All of Gotham's elite pretended to be expert connoisseurs, they believed that was why they were above the rest of the people in the city. But Sionis knew no level of appreciation for art or culture could separate the rich from the poor- that deep down they were all made of the same wretched filth.

He'd grown up mimicking all of Gotham's elite; by birth, he was a part of their prestigious order. Like the rest of them, wearing a metaphoric mask to fit in had become second nature. Only these days, he preferred to don a real mask. It seemed fitting to him. Everybody wore masks to pretend to be who they weren't, only Sionis was done with pretending. He wore a mask for irony. He knew that the whole of society was made up of falseness and lies, wearing an actual mask was a constant reminder of it. He no longer felt the need to pretend, he no longer felt the need to conform. And that freed him to do anything and everything.

Still, he liked to drink expensive liquor- if only to further mock them.

Somebody could have swapped his drink for a glass of vinegar he wouldn't have noticed, Sionis actually may have even preferred it. But there was something appeasing about contemplating the day's events with whiskey at hand, it had become methodical to him. He could spend hours on end staring at the dark Ebony wooden wall before him- the same wood that made up his parents coffin and his mask. He'd stare at the dark wood, that glimmered black and he would plan his next tactical move.

As a child he had enjoyed chess, now he lived for it- he was the best player on the board.

Unlike the other Bosses, Sionis knew that no piece were more important than the others in chess. Falcone had made the mistake of underestimating the importance and collective power of his pawns. Especially given that all pawns have the potential to travel to the other side of the board and get promoted to queens- the most powerful piece in the game. This was evident when Falcone had misjudged Jonathan Crane, who Falcone had viewed as one of his many pawns. That mistake was costly, look where it got Falcone in the end- in a barred cell with six inch cushioned padding.

Maroni, now he had been a great player. Roman thought if anyone could bring his empire down to its knees, it may have been him. But alas, Maroni miscalculated the white knight on the other side of the table. The white knight who, only people in the criminal underworld knew, went dark- the knight who went by the name of Harvey Dent.

Nobody had heard what had happened to Maroni since his car accident, his body hadn't ever been recovered from the wreckage. Everybody believed Maroni was either dead, or in hiding since Jim Gordon had enough evidence to lock him away for good now. But Sionis took the missing body as an indication that Maroni was recovering and plotting a comeback. In Sionis' locked top drawer, he had a memory stick full of files containing all the counter attack strategies to deploy if this _was_ the case. In all his years watching the rise and fall of leaders, Sionis knew it was better to be safe than dead.

Maroni had been a King in Gotham's criminal underworld, but like many Kings his reign had been brief and short. Gotham no longer required a Monarch, they needed an Emperor. And with the name of Roman, Sionis was born to conquer.

Sionis took another sip of his drink and savoured its stale taste, feeling its warmth travel down into his cold heart. Only one person had the ability to unthaw it, and that one person was ironically Joe Chill's little girl.

Years ago, Joe had called Sionis up to help deal with his dead wife. At the time Sionis had only been a minor league player in the underworld, but he had been minor league by choice. Roman wanted to test the waters before he would take the irreversible plunge into to sea of crime which swept through Gotham like a tidal wave. Sionis had developed a plan to start his pursuit by going unnoticed by the big Bosses, Sionis would begin benign but like an undetected cancer, Sionis was going to spread until he was an incurable threat.

When Roman had gone to Chill's house, he had gone with a pistol in his back pocket.

He had planned to check if the woman was really dead- Joe was so stupid Roman wouldn't take his word for it without proof- and then Roman had planned to blast four lead bullets right into the back of Joe's head. The bitch had secretly been screwing Sionis behind her husband's back, and although Roman frankly didn't give a shit about her, he was not pleased to lose out on a fuck buddy. Especially one that could ride as hard and as good as her. To Sionis, no matter how insignificant the item- nobody took _his_ belongings away from him.

But it wasn't Joe who had opened the door, it was a small porcelain child.

Her blonde hair was tied up into two different coloured scrunchies, unevenly at opposite sides of her head, and her wide innocent blue eyes stared up at him- curious to who the stranger in her home was. Joe had been too busy frantically scrubbing the stained blood off the floorboards to notice the violent pounds at the door which shook some of the plaster off of the cheap walls, so the little girl decided to answer the call.

Roman didn't realise that two people with rotten cores were capable of producing such a perfect angel- his parents had produced the Devil himself. What he did know, however, was that this angel wasn't going to stay good for very much longer. After witnessing your own father murder your mother, she was bound to have a twisted interior.

Yet still, unknowingly to her and her father, this little girl saved his life. Her trusting eyes thawed at Roman's icy heart, and he knew he wasn't going to allow her to witness the death of her other parent on the same night. He didn't want to be the person to shatter that sweet naiveté, and watch it drain away from her eyes forever. Too many people in The Narrows had broken-down, dead zombie eyes, Sionis would make certain that the girl keep her's bright for that little extra longer. Even if an extra longer was only going to result in being a few extra weeks.

So instead of following through his original plan, Sionis helped clear up the mess in the dingy apartment and tied up loose ends to make sure nobody went looking for Mrs Chill. Not that that was likely. Despite the constant arrests, the Police let The Narrows run themselves, thinking it was already all going to hell. In their eyes, all the crime being concentrated in one area was a good thing- it meant that the more affluent parts of Gotham could flourish, protected from the violence that rampaged through the streets just a few blocks away. Their arrests were only done to make sure that the people of The Narrows didn't get too out-of-hand, and feel they had the power to get an expansion of their area. Gotham was ruled by two groups- the GCPD, and the Mobs. It was paramount, for both sides, that no lowlife stepped out of line for this hierarchy to remain intact.

The lack of concern for The Narrows meant Mrs Chill wouldn't even get a mention in the Papers about her missing appearance. When a Stripper didn't show up for work even for a shift, it was immediately presumed she had died. Their bosses wrote it down that they had quit or been fired to save phoning the cops about the missing persons. A visit from the cops only meant that they'd be seen as Rats, and would be untrusted by the whole of the community. This was problematic for all parties involved: the Police actually had to do their job, and the owner would no doubt lose out on customers as well as Strippers- especially since most Strippers in The Narrows did a little extra work on the side, just to help boost their already low income.

Roman even deposited the body for Joe, he rolled it into a carpet and got his men to drop it into the river where all the other Un-notified Missing Persons were laid to rest. Secretly he was impressed at the strength that Joe Chill had demonstrated on his dead wife's carcass. Although Chill was weak mentally he certainly wasn't physically, his wife's face was almost unrecognisable from the previous on-set of heavy punches. In a way, it was better that Mrs Chill died- no man would have willingly touched her if she had lived through the beating, and that would have been her whole livelihood gone.

Despite the hidden sliver of respect, Sionis charged Joe Chill $5000 for his services. After all, he had killed one of his favourite whores.

Joe, judging from the squalor he lived in, obviously didn't have the cash. It was something Roman knew, he wanted Chill to be indebted to him. It was how he was working his way gradually up the ranks, through favours. A simple favour owed could go a long way, Chill would've been better off if he had dealt with the issue himself- something Chill realised in all his years cooped up in a tiny cell.

An idea had weaved itself into Sionis' head as he poured bleach onto the cracked tile flooring whilst Joe was occupied hysterically scratching the dried blood from his hands, an idea so great Sionis had nearly laughed when he came up with it. He had found a way to kill two birds- or in this case, three- with one stone.

Every minute of every day in the past year, Roman Sionis had spent raging about the Wayne Family. But his fury had now escalated from simmering to boiling hot.

The Wayne's had taken control over his cosmetic company since the accident which had involved him pushing forward an untrialed product, which resulted in many high society woman's faces becoming disfigured. The money from the law suits had caused him to go into debt, forcing him to look for more adventurous- meaning illegal- ways to make a living, which resulted in Sionis owning the vast majority of the whore houses in The Narrows. But all that work to combat the law suits had been in vain, given that the Wayne Family had now legally bought over his entire company.

Despite Roman not knowing anything about cosmetics, the business had been his pride and joy- the only legitimate enterprise he owned which he had inherited from his deceased parents. After the signing of the documents which handed all his power to the Wayne's, Roman had made a secret pact within himself for revenge. Now he could fulfill that promise. Again, _nobody took what was his._

So it was Sionis who planted the idea into Joe's head that a robbery of some rich couple would probably raise the money needed within a single day. He even told Joe about the Opera in town, and the convenient dark lane which the Wayne Family always parked their car. Something he knew well, having tailed their car now for months trying to memorize all of their routines, readying himself for his fatal strike.

And this would be it. Sionis was well aware of the outcome of the planned robbery.

Joe Chill was notorious for being the jitteriest crook in The Narrows. It was the reason nobody trusted him to be on Lookout given he had a past history for fleeing from the scene on the first signs of trouble, fleeing without first warning his crew. Sionis knew that if he supplied a gun to Chill, there was no way Joe would leave the scene without at least firing it once. Thus securing the Wayne's fate, and Joe's own.

Roman had decided he wouldn't be the one to break the little girl's innocence, but he could allow for her father to do it. After all, growing up within The Narrows, it was bound to happen sooner or later, and Roman wasn't the one pulling the trigger- quite literally.

Chill, like the good pawn he was, played right into Roman's hand. He was arrested with two counts of murder.

Sionis celebrated that night, surrounding himself with whores and booze. Although he was impressed by the man's strength, he had come to think of Joe as a pest, and in The Narrows- the weakest of the lot had a habit of getting eradicated like the vermin they were. After the party however, he had been left with a bitter taste in his mouth which wasn't from all the cheap alcohol he consumed (he wasn't willing to waste his expensive drink on common prostitutes who wouldn't even pretend to appreciate its flavour) - his thoughts had turned to the small girl in the Hallway. She was probably all alone in that disgusting apartment, still waiting for her father to return from his night out.

Sionis, as always, was right.

When he entered the flat she was sat crossed legged, asleep, a few feet in front of the door. She was so tired she hadn't awoken even when he nudged her with his toe, she'd only fallen to the floor still fast asleep- it would have been comical if it weren't for the situation at hand. Roman let her sleep, knowing it was going to be difficult enough telling the girl she'd likely never see her father again, and watched over her until she woke up hours later.

"It's you again." She stated rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Roman was slightly surprised that she remembered him, it had been at least three weeks since their first, and only, short encounter.

"Listen Kid, you got anywhere else to stay?" His voice was rough from the cigarettes and booze the night before, Sionis didn't know if his raging hangover could take a hysterical child.

"The Morrison's downstairs sometimes take care of me."

An elderly couple directly below Chill's flat had taken the little girl in a few times when her mother was out for days on end, and her father was too drunk to move off the couch. They loved that girl like the child they'd never had, and worried every night about her welfare- hearing her father's drunken stumbles on the ceiling above. Mr Morrison even accompanied her to school every day, just to be certain she got there safely; there were all sorts of low-life scum living in The Narrows.

"Great, Kid."

Roman walked off leaving the child yet again alone to speak to the Morrison's of the current circumstance. They were the ones who suggested that the girl stayed with them- concerned that the Police would want to put her into Care. Even the scum of the streets were disgusted by the horror stories that came out of the Care Homes in Gotham. Sionis was more than satisfied that they'd look after her. He hadn't needed to bribe them, they had voluntarily offered. Roman thought that the Morrison's were perhaps the only decent people he'd ever meet from The Narrows, he'd never met anybody who was willing to do something without a string attached. So although Sionis was satisfied, he didn't like them. Their ability to be naturally moral humans only caused him to loath them, he forever would be unadmittedly jealous that what came so easily to them was impossible to him.

The only thing he had left to do was to tell the little girl she'd never see her dad again.

Mrs Morrison had refused. Apparently she didn't want the girl to associate them with the incrimination of her father as would make the transition with living with them much harder. Sionis had scoffed, not believing that psychological bullshit, but still agreed he'd be the one to tell her- allowing the Morrison's to swoop in to comfort her, thus creating some _'nurturing association with them'_ or some _shit_ like that. Sionis only agreed because his headache was making it too painful to argue with some high pitched old hag.

When Roman entered the flat again the little girl was standing in the centre of the hallway, clutching onto her Elmo teddy thinking it would bring her bravery. Roman was tempted to turn on his heel and force the Morrison's to deal with the whole situation. Despite being born into richness, Sionis had never been blessed with nobility. It was her unwavering eyes which fixed him into staying.

"Where's Daddy?" Her voice was calm, and her eyes were still steadily holding his gaze. Nobody could stand looking Sionis in the face for long periods of time; his eyes were dull from the lack of feelings, his face was either blank and unreadable or morphed into a twisted grimace of rage. Somebody once had said that a dead corpse showed more emotion than Roman, and they may have been right with that. But the little girl didn't shy away from staring him down, making his intrigue grow further. She was a peculiar thing.

Sionis crouched down to talk to her, he didn't know how to speak with kids so he was mimicking the ways cops do it on the TV and in Movies. He half wished he had shown up with a whole speech prepared, that way at least his words would be poetic and memorable- not that the little girl would ever forget the next words that came out from his mouth.

"Your dad got sent away, for a long time. The Morrison's said they'd take care of you now."

She blinked slowly but she held the stare, she had seen right through the euphemism he'd used. Everybody at her Kindergarten knew what 'sent away' meant, a third of their parents had been taken in by the pigs.

"What he get locked up for?" She didn't beat around the bush.

"He tried to rob a few people, but it went wrong."

Sionis was beginning to find her watchfulness unnerving. The same Sionis who could deal with hard-core gangsters and The Mob, was getting unhinged by a little four year old girl.

"What happened?" Her voice was still calm, although her grip on Elmo had tightened. A trail of cotton wool threatened to pour out of a rip in Elmo's arm, Chill had stumbled across the toy in the gutter after a night out at the Bar. He tried to pass it off as new but the little girl knew better. Still, she loved the present because it was the first present she had ever been given from him and that made it special.

Sionis paused, "He shot at them."

"They dead?" She didn't hesitate with the question, it was as if it was automatic. The little girl didn't even seem surprised.

Inside Roman started to wish she _had_ cried, he figured that most children and adults would have sobbed finding out their loved ones are in jail. Her neutrality and intense questions were really creeping him out. Roman was starting to understand why so many people feared talking to him, this little girl was giving him a dose of Karma. If she carried on this attitude, she'd grow to be a formidable woman.

"Yeah."

The little girl nodded, processing the information.

Sionis rose from his crouched position, suddenly having a need to get away from the small child who was so composed. He felt if her hands had held a knife rather than a teddy, he'd be dead.

"Who'd he kill?" Her gaze rose again to meet his.

"The Wayne's."

She nodded again slowly, and spoke her voice cold and detached- "I'll kill the rest of that family myself."

And with that one sentence, Sionis knew his instincts had yet again been right- she was special.

So Sionis took a backseat, and watched her life progress before his eyes.

Throughout her life, she had managed to keep her wide-eyed look which Sionis had originally mistaken as naïveté which in reality was pure, unadulterated insanity. Seeing her mother be killed by her own father, a person she idolised completely despite all his flaws, had indeed messed her up. Unfortunately for her, she was good at hiding her craziness behind an innocent front. If her twisted mind had been caught early on, she wouldn't have become the messed up person she was today. But Sionis, the only person who realised she was sick as a child, didn't tell anybody.

That was because Roman Sionis was sick himself.

He grew up rich and isolated, with a family that hated him- the one thing they hated more than him, however, was the Wayne's; jealous of their power and influence. One day, Sionis finally cracked and killed them all, evidently their love for hating others had been passed down through genetics. The only thing that bound him to his dead parents were his loathing of the Wayne Family and the cosmetic company, which had been stolen from him. But now, somebody else wanted them all dead just as much as he did. Roman decided he'd allow the girl the pleasure of killing the remaining Wayne when she grew up. It would be his testament to her given that he had caused the undoing of her father.

But the Morrison's years of love and nurture had made her go weak. And although she was still twisted inside as an adult, she no longer felt the need for revenge. So Sionis was forced to improvise.

Roman had heard whispers down the grape vine that Joe Chill was planning on turning on his cellmate Falcone for parole. It was all so Chill could meet with his grown up daughter, who he hadn't seen in nearly fifteen years. Almost two decades on the inside had made him realise the important things on life which he had taken for granted- or seen as a liability- when he was young and reckless.

Sionis choose to, yet again, sell Joe down the river by convincing him that the decision was good, and that the Mob wouldn't retaliate with the rise of Maroni. All of that was utter bullshit. The GCPD and Mob were more alike than anybody could imagine, turn on one of their own and they crashed down upon you like an avalanche.

Sionis waited one whole year later to tell the girl, now a woman, that it was really the remaining Wayne who had killed her father. He knew that you should never rush a good plan. He wanted that hatred to fester again, and he knew it would rot her insides out. Especially since she no longer felt the comfort or love from the Morrison's who had died the same day as her father from a 'small boiler accident'. A little pipe bomb was all it took for Sionis to get them out of the picture.

When he had told her, he had thought she was going to make the same promise she had done as a child. But yet again she surprised him- she didn't. The woman left silently, and that night she slit her wrists.

If it hadn't been for Sionis' men posted on a roof to watch her actions through her open curtains, she would have bled to death. Her body probably wouldn't have been found for two weeks, when the landlord made his monthly rounds for rent. The girl, like Sionis, didn't have any friends. By the time she was found, the maggots and rats would have already gotten to her. They would have eaten away at her delicate features, they would have made her as ugly as the souls of the people in the city.

But Sionis didn't see her attempted suicide as a failure of his plan, he saw it as a victory. If she was willing to kill herself, soon she'd perhaps be willing to kill others too- but more specifically Bruce Wayne. His original plan _would_ follow through.

He toasted his glass to the empty room to that.

What he didn't know was that the Joker had helped the woman see through Sionis' scheme. And it wasn't Bruce she was willing to kill- it was Sionis, himself.

And like Emperor Caesar had been assassinated, the girl was more than ready to stab the bastard to death.


	8. The Great Escape- Part One: Lady Killer

**Author's Note: WARNING! This is going to be one messed up and twisted chapter, full of pretty dark themes. So read at your own discretion, and if I do offend anyone I sincerely apologise. The OC in the story isn't exactly sane- as you may have realised. I thought this was fitting cause I didn't really believe the Joker could ever be fully interested in an average girl- don't want to ruin it, but be prepared!**

 **Sorry it took so long to update, this was by far the hardest chapter to write- I wasn't happy with the original way it went so rewrote it thrice, THRICE! Still, I feel it's still not the best it could be, but I'm half way finished the part two which both redeems and compensates for it. Anyways I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Five- The Great Escape- Part One: Lady Killer**

There was a rational reason why they found me dressed as a Nurse and performing my very own surgical procedure on Johnston with a scalpel. Okay, so maybe there _wasn't_ a 'rational reason' for it, but it did have a certain degree of logic behind it. Just a little bit. A _teeny-weeny_ amount.

Honestly though, it was partially her fault- something I told myself to justify the whole thing. I mean, she _could_ have made the killing harder for me. But no, as soon as I took her aside and told her I had some 'very important information regarding her husband's death'- later I'd find his name was Bill- she immediately offered to have a 'private chat' in her office, with the door locked closed. Now, I'm not saying she deserved to bleed to death with a scalpel lodged into her throat, but she didn't exactly make the job difficult. It was as if her soul was craving death, she was voluntarily digging her own grave.

If Johnston hadn't dead-bolted the door, the Asylum Warden- who I'd also later find out was called Frank- may have been able to break down the door in time to save her from blood-loss, and save the carpet from the nasty red stains that no volume of bleach could remove. How Frank had managed to find me, I have no idea. The killing had been virtually silent, the position of the blade meant she was too occupied choking on her blood to attempt screaming. I'll just add that to my list of never-to-be-answered questions. Personally, I blame my luck. I'd never had much of it to begin with. But, when life gives you lemons? Ah, who am I kidding. I always hated sourness anyways.

I should've felt bad for what I did. I knew that. But I couldn't bear myself to feel any sort of pity for someone who I just watched bleed out pathetically as if they weren't a real person but a slaughtered sheep. When they told me I was going to be locked up with all the other psycho lunatics, I didn't even bother to fake a tear at my heinous actions. For the first time, I showed Gotham who I truly was- one sick and twisted freak. They going to pay for getting between me and my road for vengeance.

That's right- like all the other wack-jobs in the city, I'm bound on the next bus to Arkham. But I've overshot entirely, let me take you back to how the days events began. It's flashback time.

* * *

The Joker was running out of time and we both knew it. The Nurses had already given us lunch, meaning he had at most three hours left in this dingy hospital room. After those three hours were up he'd be moved into the bulletproof van which only had one destination- Arkham Asylum. After that he'd never to be seen by Gotham's public ever again.

This was as close to nervous that the Joker would ever get. His eyes were darting all over the room's interior, constantly reassessing a possible escape route- each time they eventually strayed onto me. But he wasn't nervous though, monsters like him would never experience the feeling- the Joker wasn't nervous, he was trapped.

There's a difference between the two. People who are nervous are often too frightened to anything about their situation, whereas trapped animals are dangerously unpredictable when cornered. The Joker had always been violently impulsive, so who knew what would happen now they had captured him. One thing was certain- he wouldn't go down without a fight.

A thin gleam of sweat had developed on his forehead which shone in the light, gave him a halo effect- as if he was the epitome of good. Sometimes in moments like these, I forgot about his past and thought of him as an actual human being with feelings. But the whole of Gotham knew that wasn't true. No human would willingly want to sever the loose strands of civilisation and plummet the city into anarchy and chaos. It was human nature to want order, and he defied this necessity altogether. But yet, sometimes my mind couldn't help but mistake him for one.

"There's a way out of this ya know, _pumpkin_."

I loathed the way my dad's pet name for me flowed so effortlessly off of his tongue, which was currently sucking on his scars turning them pink from the pressure. But most of all I hated that he used the name because he _knew_ that I despised it.

I didn't respond. Like a child, I was giving him the silent treatment.

Ever since he threw the grenade called 'reality' in my face, and demolished everything I had believed, I stopped communicating with him altogether. Most people would be thankful that he had shown them the truth, but not I. He hadn't done it out of kindness, the Joker didn't do anything out of generosity and good-spirit- he had done it out of malice.

It only had taken him mere minutes to pick away at the illusion that I had believed most of my life, and he had done it laughing all the way- mocking and taunting me. Breathing the same air as him was a constant reminder of my own stupidity, each lungful had begun to bring me pain as if _I_ was the patient in the room who had their ribs broken.

I was cracking completely, and the Joker had a front row seat- demanding an encore. What was more entertaining than watch somebody slip into madness? It certainly beat _GCN._

The irony of the whole situation was that the hospital was trying to make me better, but it had only succeeded in making me worse.

The Joker let out a frustrated grunt of air, annoyed at my unyielding ability to stay mute.

"Listen to me _pumpkin_ ," He demanded my attention but my eyes didn't stray from the ceiling. "Do you want to go to the looney-bin? Cause that's where they're sending ya. And it won't be a pretty place, either- it's going to be state-run. And we both know what that means."

We did.

The state-run mental institutes in Gotham- yes, it is plural, there are too many crazies in Gotham for them all to be located under one roof- was where people sent the scum who they never wanted to see again. Suspected paedophiles, rapists and murderers all went there. The Police didn't have enough evidence to catch them, but they could still lock them away for the rest of their lives.

There was a rumour that people went to the place sane- only to be turned crazy. The whole of The Narrows believed it. The institutes clogged your pipes up so much on drugs that it was impossible to tell reality from fiction- something which appeared already to be near impossible for me. They did it for one reason, and one reason alone- funding. The more patients they had, the more money they got. None of the state-run places wanted you to get better, they wanted you to stay there so they could get more wads of cash.

But I had figured that the Wayne Foundation would pay for me to go to a private place, one like Palm Springs which sounded and seemed more like a Spa than a ward. A place where they would actually listen to you and I could pretend to be normal, getting discharged within the week but not before trying out some massage therapy. I heard it did _real wonders._

The Joker devoured this illusion too in a record-breaking time, almost reading my mind. "You think anybody in the Wayne's knows _uh_ about the state-places? They do fundraisers for them every two months."

I stiffened in my bed, he was yet again right. All the creeps I just spoke about? I'd be locked into a vicinity with them all.

 _Well fuck._ I head butted my pillow in anger, at myself and at the smugness he was probably currently feeling.

"Why are you telling me this?" I hissed out, my gaze trailed away from the roof towards his bed where he lay smirking victoriously. First rule of The Narrows- you don't trust anybody who is willing to help you out. Everybody had a hidden agenda, and the Joker was certainly no exception.

"Can't I help out a _friend_?" He said the word through gritted teeth, as if it wasn't in his vocabulary. I didn't need a lie-detector to know he wasn't being honest. Over the past few days I had been taking sneak peaks at his ECG screen which had showed his erratic heartbeat through his speeches. It proved my theory- most of the words that came out of his mouth were a pile of utter shit, he'd be the second last person I'd trust with my life. Obviously Sionis held the title of first place.

"Tell me." I demanded, moving my eyes back to the ceiling- a threat that the silent treatment would return with a vengeance, he needed me for something- he just wasn't yet willing to tell me what it was.

He thought for a moment, calculating his response- wondering whether or not to tell the truth or another one of his fabricated lies.

"I'm a little _uh_ tied-up at the moment." He let out a low chuckle, but his next words were ever lower as if he didn't want to admit them- I didn't need to be a psychologist to figure out he had a Power Complex. "I need you to _uh_ do something."

I shifted my gaze towards him in an instant, my large triumphant smile contrasting against his ugly sneer.

"So what's the plan, shit-brains?"

Where this new-found confidence came from, I'll never know. But at the time, I was too busy feeling superior about having won one round against the Joker's mental mind games to care about the repercussions the insult could bring. _That was one big mistake._

* * *

"Doctor! DOCTOR!" I heard the Joker yell in the background, the heavy drums of my blood pounding in my ears were overpowering. I could feel my face pale, as all my blood had started flowing out onto the white sheets below me.

Some plan this was. It was suicidal. But evidently, so was I.

My eyes fought to stay open, I needed to say conscious for this to work out. Otherwise, we'd both be sent to our own hell holes never to experience the air of freedom again. Somewhere in the back of my mind the speech from 'Braveheart' began to play.

 _' And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!'_

I never knew I had enjoyed the film to the point in which I had memorised the epic speech. I'd only ever seen it once. It's funny the things you recall in your near-death moments. I had hoped it always be something sentimental and meaningful, not a bloody Mel Gibson film. It figures though, my death was going to turn out to be just as pathetic as my life.

The minutes felt like eternities. But even approaching death's door I knew it meant one thing- there was no guard sanctioned outside the door, otherwise they'd fly in at the first shout. We actually stood a chance to escape. That was, _if_ the first part of the plan was successful. A factor which was looking very slim at the moment, given I was yet again bleeding to death.

My eyelids were getting heavier by the instant, sleep wanted desperately to take me. The cold touch of Death was seeming more and more appealing to me. Well, it did beat the intense pain in my arm.

"Joker.." I groaned out weakly, beginning to see dark splodges around the room which moved in kaleidoscope shapes, it was one dark acid trip.

"Don't you even think about it." He muttered, before shouting out again. "DOCTORRR!"

At the time, I barely recognised it as a yell. To me he was miles away and drifting further and further out to sea. I couldn't join him because I had never been a good swimmer, so I was letting the waves take me away.

In a split instant my brain thought he had tricked me, he had wanted me dead. Revenge for my original laugh about him going to Arkham, and pushing my luck calling him a 'shit-brain'- why the _fuck_ did I think it was a reasonable idea at the time? I had given him my death on a silver platter. I was _so_ dead. So very, very dead.

And with that darkness took hold.

* * *

I was woken up by sharp and frequent stabs to my arm. But it was welcome, the pain assured me I was still alive.

My eyes felt battered and heavy. It took a while for me to win the mental fight to force my brain to open them again. When I finally managed, the room was basked in a cosy orange light rather than sterile white. My body felt light, I couldn't feel the bed below me. I was floating, up and up and up and—

 _Thank you Jesus._

Some Saint had given me back my morphine.

 _"Bitch, ripped her stitches open with her teeth."_

I recognised that cold voice somewhere, but I was floating too high to care. There was something I had to do, but I just couldn't remember. Another pinprick, this one was barely detectable- I was too far away. But I still wasn't high enough.

There was something I had to do, it was preventing my body from flying too far. I wanted to reach out towards the sun but I could only get to the ceiling.

" _I tell ya. I could be uh, psychologically damaged after witnessing that."_

A piercing laugh followed me up into the sky, I had heard it before- many times. It was causing my teeth to clench together on instinct.

Suddenly, I remembered.

My body plummeted down as if I had been dosed in ice cold water, and I rose up with a jerk.

The Nurse's head- who was leaning over my bed to stitch me back up- and mine collided with an almighty thud, and I was knocked back down onto my mattress, grunting out in agony. A wave of morphine swooped in trying to take away the hurt, but I bit it back, refusing to let it take a hold of my body again. How I hated obligations. I could've stayed up in the sky for the rest of the day, but instead I was forced to fight off the chemicals which were warming my blood with loveliness.

It appears, not only had the hospital caused my mental state to deteriorate further, but it had also made me into a drug addict. If only I had the funds to sue them, a case like that could get you rich with ease.

The female Nurse cried out in pain from the collision, moving both her hands to her head. One of her hands dropped the stringed needle, and it lay like a silver diamond on my bed.

I looked at the Joker, through tear-filled eyes from the excruciating head blow, for confirmation of the plan. He didn't speak, only grinned back wickedly.

It was now or never.

My free hand which was getting the stitches done, swiped up the needle and gave an almighty tug- breaking the needle free from the string. I hissed out in pain, but the morphine that my body was fighting helped to numb it down a little.

Phase one was complete. Just one more phase to go until I was free.

The Nurse eventually came round to her senses although her movements were slow. The impact had probably given us both a concussion, and that would work in my favour- at least, for the time being. She didn't even notice the missing needle, or my hand which lay in a fist trying to conceal it, or the small victorious smile which lay dormant on my face. The Nurse bandaged me up tightly, cutting circulation off from my arm, out of anger of the pain I had caused her. After that, the Nurse left quickly- wanting to escape from the two crazies that shared room A208.

I didn't really blame her for wanting to escape, it seems we both did too.

I could still feel a thin trickle of blood seep out of my skin, but pushed it to the back of my concern list. It made me weak but my top priority was to break-out, and fast. If a lot of bloodletting hadn't succeeded in killing me, I doubted a small dribble would.

"You still with me, Pumpkin?" The Joker asked impatiently from my lack of movement, his foot was twitching agitatedly. But I ignored him, momentarily trying to get my bearings back. My head was spinning like it just come out of the dryer- I definitely had whiplash. And now, it was working against me. How quickly the tides could turn.

After the world stopped spinning as jaggedly, I turned on my side. For the first time in my stay I was turning my back to the Joker and it felt terrifying. You never turn your back on a wild animal, unless you actually _want_ to get attacked. But it was necessary so that I could get full access to the lock within my handcuffs.

I was going to pick these bad boys.

* * *

Seventh _fucking_ attempt. And I was still unsuccessful. My hands had grown wet with sweat, and the needle kept slipping around in my hand making the task that much harder. The atmosphere in the room was even worse. Although my back was turned away from him, I could feel his unwavering gaze directed at the back of my head.

"I thought you _uh_ said you could pick locks."

Eighth attempt. No success.

"I can!" I hissed. Everybody in The Narrows learns the skill by the time they reach Elementary School. By Middle School, most of us had criminal records. By High School? Half of us were locked away in Juvenile Detention. I was one of the fortunate ones, I never got caught- it was one of the only things I could boast about.

"Bike locks don't count."

I heaved out angrily, my concentration breaking from his continuance jeers.

"Look, Police cuffs are hard enough with two pins and I've only got a needle. So unless you want to whisper out any words of encouragement- shut the _fuck_ up."

I was too frustrated at my rusty lock-picking skills to worry about pissing off the ' _Clowned Prince of Crime',_ as _GCN_ titled him. He just had the habit of rubbing myself, and the whole of Gotham up the wrong way. 'Rubbing up the wrong way', that was the understatement of the century.

My words had been a lie though. In my golden years, which were ironically also the darkest years of my life, I could have picked a Police Lock with a hair clip- my excuse to him was invalid. Still, he didn't detect, or more accurately choose not to comment on my statement. He wasn't idiotic enough to risk escape to get the last word in an argument.

Ninth attempt. I heard a faint _click._

Victory.

I smiled, sitting up and waving my shackles above my head triumphantly. "You were saying _clown_?"

He sneered back, and I wiped the grin from my face and got down to business. I needed to be on the Joker's good side-if he even had a good side- if I was going to survive, but something within me couldn't help but keep on pushing my luck with him. One of the people in the room was a homicidal and sadistic master-mind, the other was an unbalanced and half-witted imbecile. It almost sounded like a sick joke.

In one swift motion, I swung my legs around off of the bed and hovered my bare feet above the ground. My feet hadn't touched the floor in weeks, and I was oddly worried about how I would cope with the sudden change from living horizontally to going back to the vertical position. My big toe skimmed across the floor trying to test the waters, it was freezing cold.

A voice broke me out from my concern, "Take your time, it's not like I have anywhere I need to be."

With that tauntingly sarcastic statement, I launched myself off the bed and nearly stumbled onto the floor. My legs felt they would snap under the weight of my body. I had never realised how strong gravity was, it made me regret not appreciating High School Physics more. The whiplash didn't help the situation, I stood swaying on a spot trying to regain balance like I was a sea-sick sailor.

The Joker was enraged by my faltering, and resorted to threats.

"Actually, forget that Bambi. I _do_ have places to go, people to kill. The longer you take, I may add on an extra person to the list."

You didn't have to be Einstein to work out who the extra person was.

Immediately, I stumbled over to his bed like a drunk gazelle and hastily loosened a restraint, with clumsy doped up fingers _._ I'd make damn sure that the Joker wouldn't have the urge to kill me, at least not before I murdered somebody else first. A very specific somebody.

Even the thought of him caused my blood to burn in anticipation. That bitch was going to pay. There he was sitting surrounded by mountains of cash and a sea of hoes, probably all laughing in unison at my stupidity- whilst here I was in a shitty hospital room, with a TV that only played two channels, and I had a fucking homicidal clown for company. Oh yes, was Roman going to suffer. His death was going to be long and miserable, just like my existence on Earth. I'd break him just like he broke me, I wouldn't even allow him death until he was begging and snivelling for it.

"One'll do." The Joker stopped me from undoing the restraint at his foot.

I frowned confused, "You not breaking out now?"

He grinned in return. It was a crooked, jeering smile which made me fingers ache to slap the smug look of his face. "Will you miss me _pumpkin_?"

"Not a chance in Hell." I scoffed.

I turned to leave the room, if he wanted to forfeit his chances of escape that was on him. Personally, I was out. It appeared we both had places to go and people to kill. Having even one thing in common with the Joker was nearly spine-chilling.

"Wait." His words stopped in my tracks and whipped round, my head roared out in protest from the motion. I caught him licking the corner of his mouth as he started at me, my lip curled up in disgust. "You _uh_ \- you owe me."

Internally, I kicked myself. There I was thinking I could just breeze on out, so easily. Of course he just _had_ to make everything difficult, it was in his nature.

I shook my head, defiant, "I just helped free you."

He retorted immediately, "With whose plan?"

 _Dammit._ I'd give him that one. I let out a huge puff of air, a thin tendril of blonde hair which was untidily placed in front of my face flew up and joined the rest of my hair. My mind was in conflict, I'd never believed much in owing people things- if somebody did something for me that was on them, if they expected something in return they'd be in for a shock, it was their weakness for believing I was moral enough to repay them. But making an enemy of the Joker didn't seem like a good idea.

"What do you want _clown_?"

I wanted it to be known that I was doing this out of courtesy, not choice.

"Terms of endearment already? That's twice you've called me that today. Well, _beau-ti-ful_ I feel honoured." His smile widened, showing off his yellow stained-teeth from cigarettes and a general lack of hygiene. I figured it must hurt to be constantly smiling like that, especially since his scars had no doubt ripped through his muscle tissue. But it made sense why he always grinned, I'd already come to the conclusion that he was a masochist.

I rolled my eyes, my own teeth gnawed together. "What do you want?"

As always he ignored me, "Sayyyy. What's your name _pumpkin?_ All these nights spent together and I still don't know. "

My palm was begging for me to backhand him, I didn't like the sexual innuendo that he laced into his words.

"I don't know yours." Was my weak retort. I sounded like a little bitch, and I sure felt like one too at that moment. All I wanted to do was flee, but his voice was compelling me to stay put.

"They call me the Jokerrr." He rolled out his 'r' as if it was the only letter that mattered to him. Whoever he had been before he donned his clown persona was long gone. For his twisted brain, his guise was now reality. He probably didn't even remember the time before he was running around trying to blow up half the city. What would I accomplish arguing over the name he identified with? To him, he was and always had been the Joker.

My legs were itching to leave, the longer I stayed the less of a chance I had to escape. It meant he got to win this round. Yet again, he was one up on me. I could've given him a fake name- but I had a feeling he'd be able to sniff it out. Expert liars can easily spot another person's bullshit, so I wasn't willing to take the risk.

I scowled, beaten, my voice was cold and detached, "I'm Alice."

" _Alice."_ He tasted out the word with his tongue, getting a feel for every vowel and consonant.

I had once read that some people's brains were wired to believe that words had particular flavours, the Joker may have been one of these people- he was obsessed with emphasising certain letters in phrases and words. I would never ask him though, the question seemed too personal and I didn't want to know what happened to people who got too close to the Joker. It probably never ended well.

"What do you want?" I repeated. The roles had shifted, I was now the one desperate to get the other to hurry up. He was toying with me, he was doing this for one purpose- revenge. It was reprisal for me accidentally time-wasting during my phase of the plan. I saw through his petty games but it didn't mean that I'd be allowed to stop playing.

"Alice, _Alice,_ now- what do _I_ want?" His eyes rolled up to the back of his head as if he was scanning his mind for ideas. He knew what he wanted, he was just taking his bitter sweet time about it. Now he was no longer cornered, he'd resorted back into his original state- which is to say, completely fucking demented.

My lips pursed, and I snuck a glance at the door handle to check for signs of movement. When I turned back he was staring right at me and I nearly gasped like some pitiful Mary Sue, his eyes told what his mouth didn't- _'Gotcha'._ Whatever coming up wasn't going to be pretty.

"How about you put that needle in my mouth?"

 _What._

"What?"

He didn't reply, he just stuck his wet tongue out of his wide open mouth. His eyes beckoning me to come closer and do the task. If this was some weird kinky shit he was into, I definitely did not want to be involved. Still, my legs moved closer and closer until my head was hovering a metre above his. His dark eyes lit up from faint amusement as he watch my face was contort into disgust.

I dropped the needle onto his slimy tongue, making sure not to have contact with his mouth. I didn't trust him not to bite me and try tear on of my fingers off that would've been a novice mistake- it just seemed like an activity he did for fun. As soon as it landed, his tongue swiped back into his mouth with the needle attached. It was a miracle that he didn't accidentally swallow it. Not that I would have cared.

I was thinking this couldn't have been the thing I owed him. It was too easy, way too easy. And I was right.

"Now that's done," He licked the corner of his mouth, a droplet of blood trickling out from the needle stabbing into the muscle. "I want you to kill- _uh_ that prissy bitch for me."

 _What._

"WH-" I near shouted, but his eye glare shut me right back up.

He continued after my silence, something dark and menacing laced under his words- it was a threat. "After all I've _uh_ done for you, Alice, I'd expect some more _grat-it-ude."_

So this was going to be the payback for the insult. But, I had the distinct feeling he would have made me do it anyways, even if I hadn't tried offending him. If this was the case it could only mean one thing- the Joker still had something awful lined up for me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat painfully. I'd only tried to kill one person if my life, myself, and that hadn't exactly gone to plan. So who knew who I'd be able to cope with killing somebody else.

He was forcing me choose between saving myself or saving Nurse Johnston. Saving myself; some scum from The Narrows who never had much of a life to begin with, or saving Nurse Johnston; some sanctimonious woman who had treated me like I was invisible during my whole stay.

I figured we were both alone in the world. I didn't have a family, and thanks to the Joker- she definitely didn't have a husband. But in terms of society, she probably brought more to the table. I mean, her job was to harbour people back to well health. My job? Well, I pretty much survived off of Government hand-outs.

But, if I _was_ to kill Sionis- surely that was giving back to society? And that was a pretty major deed I'd be committing for the world. Sionis is a huge criminal, and if he carried on living he'd probably add hundreds of tallies to his kill list. That had to count for something. I mean if- no, _when-_ I kill him I could be classed as a martyr, I'd be the saving grace of Gotham.

But Johnston did have the plan or at least, a craving to kill the Joker. But would she ever follow through with it? Even if she could, that had backfired now I'd released him from one of his binds. So much for me giving back to society- attempt to murder one crime-lord by letting another criminal loose to petrify the streets again. But that was done now, I could hardly walk over and retied the strap. He'd kill me before letting that happen. It appeared I wasn't so suicidal after all, I had a reason to live now if it was only to kill somebody else.

I mean, what did Nurse Johnston really do? Apart from judge people with her beady, little eyes and feel superior to everyone she met? Maybe if she had been polite to me, she might of stood a chance of living. But then again, probably not. I was just trying to justify my decision, I wasn't a monster- not yet, anyways.

"Alright, I'll do it."

And that's how I successfully managed to convince myself to commit my first murder. By Lord, I was going straight to Hell after this. Or more precisely, Arkham Asylum.


	9. The Great Escape- Part Two: Bath Time

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your reviews! They never fail to make my day. I finished this chapter super fast because it was so fun to write, plus it ties together quite a few loose ends, making the story all neat for part two of the book which is going to be set in Arkham Asylum- which I'm honestly so excited about! I did this chapter in third person again because as tempting as it is to write from the Joker's POV, I like a lot of his thoughts and motives being private as it adds to the mystery and complexity of his character. As always, I hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Five- The Great Escape- Part Two: Bath Time**

He watched her leave through the door, her hospital gown which was strung together untidily revealed small parts of her back made something stir down deep below him. He may have been a deranged killer, but like any man, he did have his urges.

He was surprised to find he had actually _enjoyed_ her company. Now that the Batman was currently out of the game; he needed a replacement, and Alice had fitted the role beautifully.

Like the Bats, she was insane- face it, anyone who dresses up as a vigilante in a bat costume was completely batshit crazy- and also like the Bats she felt the need to get revenge for all those who had wronged her. She was damn near perfect- to the Joker, only _he_ was capable of faultlessness- and he almost wished he had met her sooner.

But now she was slipping away, to return to the filthy streets of Gotham and their paths would be unlikely to cross again. Unless of course, he did something about it.

And he planned to do something about it.

He prodded his tongue with the needle that lay dormant in his mouth tasting the droplets of blood which seeped out. Under his blanket his foot was twitching wildly, with intense anticipation of what he was planning to do. He hadn't had this much fun since his fatal face-off with Batman. His head was spinning dizzily with exhilaration.

The Joker had watched her rip out her stitched with her teeth like a feral animal, and he had stared in awe. When he explained the plan, she didn't question it for one second- or doubt if it would work. She followed his instructions like one of his goons, but she was different from them- superior. The Joker loathed the pathetic nature of his thugs, and he certainly didn't hate Alice.

She was above his thugs, unlike them she wasn't motivated by money or fear. The only thing which fuelled her was hatred. He'd caught glimpses of it during his stay- when she spoke about the Wayne's, when he mocked her family, and when he revealed the truth about Sionis. But only brief sights of her fury, and he wanted the full show- fireworks and all. The Joker after all, did love explosions.

Alice had insulted him though, or at least attempted too- the Joker didn't have the emotions to get offended. It meant eventually he'd have to punish her, he wasn't willing to let a few snide remarks ruin his reputation for violence. But her penalty could come later, much later. At the moment she was just too fun to play with.

Despite her comments, the Joker knew that deep down within her lurked a soft spot for him, she had practically admitted it. Untying his hand had proved it to be true. The Joker could've gotten Alice to free him from his all of his shackles, but that would've been too easy for him. The Joker couldn't stand getting things handed to him, it spoiled the fun of it. Part of the thrill he had of committing crimes was the risk of getting caught. It added that much more fun to the game. That's all his crimes and killing would ever be to him, one huge game. It was what made him a cut above all the other criminals in Gotham. He didn't have motivation only a release from boredom, all he wanted was chaos.

Alice was addicted to morphine, he was addicted to mayhem, and the Bats was addicted to justice. They all fitted together as a trio of deranged outcasts, all of them unwanted by the city.

 _One twisted family,_ the Joker thought lightheadedly.

But a family of three was too big for him, he'd been in a family of three growing up and that hadn't worked out well. The Joker violently pushed the stray thought to the back of his head, he preferred his past to be multiple choice like all the stories of how he got his scars- it ruined everything if he remember the truth. What was the saying- three's a crowd? Two's were the ideal match. Two's were like a pair of Jokers in a deck of cards, two's balanced each other out like Yin and Yang. The Joker would have to get to the issue of three at a later date, currently Batman was out which meant that Alice could join the game. However, temporarily that would be.

His foot continued to twitch impatiently, and his scars appeared redder as he gnawed at them, giddy with excitement. He was like a shark that smelt blood, he knew his prey was near approaching. Call it predator's instinct or luck, but within that next minute his victim entered.

A male Nurse stepped into the room with a bucket of lukewarm water and a yellow sponge. His eyes looked everywhere in the room but the Joker's face, which was watching every movement of the Nurse like a spider on its web- waiting for the best moment to strike. This man was weak both mentally and physically, a scrawny man of only 5 foot 4. He'd be easy pickings.

The Nurse didn't notice the empty bed that lay beside the Joker, Alice had been right- the Joker's presence had made her invisible. It was as if she had never occupied the same room as him.

The Joker's free hand curled into a fist, ready to strike. He was itching to inflict some real pain onto a person; mental torture was only half as much fun.

"Sayyyy," the Joker drawled, rolling out his consonants. "How about you start with my face?"

The male Nurse swallowed, his adam apple bopping down as he neared the Joker's bed. The hospital ward had drawn straws to see who would be cleaning the Joker, the male Nurse hadn't lost but the woman he fancied had. So the male Nurse made the rash decision to nominate himself in a bid to impress her. He instantly regretted his spurt of bravado, but it earned him a light kiss on the cheek so the Nurse followed his decision through, hoping he'd earn more from her later.

The Nurse dipped the sponge in the water and squeezed, the droplets colliding heavily with the water was the only sound heard in the room but it echoed through like a gunshot.

The Nurse learnt over the Joker dapping his forehead lightly with the sponge, trying to gently massage off the dirt and grime. He avoided the clown's eyes at all costs, but from the corner of his vision he could see the Joker looking up at him with faux innocence. Still, the Joker's calmness managed to lull the Nurse into a false sense of security. Big mistake on his part.

In an instant the Joker's free hand grabbed the back of his head and hurtled it through the wall above the headboard.

The Nurse fell limp onto the bed, then rolled onto the floor. Plaster dust fell from the indent caused by the impact and onto the Joker's face, giving him another idea. But first, he had to escape his binds.

He used his free hand to quickly untie all of his restraints, and within seconds he took his first step in weeks off of the hospital bed. The Joker laughed manically, wishing Alice- heck _anyone-_ could have spectated his master skill of escapism. Houdini had nothing on him.

The Joker wiped the plaster dust from the wall and smothered it onto his face. He was finally getting his mask back. The dust, although was inferior in comparison to face paint, caused his face to glow a ghastly pale white. He then dunked his fingers into the Nurse's head wound and painted it on his lips, licking the blood off of his fingers to taste his prey. The blood tasted bitter and metallic, but to the Joker all it tasted of was sweet victory.

The only thing he was missing was his signature black eyes. But he knew just where to get them.

He snuck through the door, checking for Nurses but the corridor was empty causing him to grin even further. His escape was going even more perfectly than predicted, all he had to do was make it to the end of the hall. Planting the explosives at the other Hospital meant he had memorised the whole floor plan of each wing. Gotham's founders hadn't bothered to come up with a new plan for each hospital and had recycled the original Hospital's layout- the Joker wasn't complaining about their unoriginality, it was currently aiding him in his sickly revenge.

His pale bare feet flew down the corridor barely touching the ground. Despite his bony appearance, he was athletic. The Joker used his weak looking body to his advantage, in fights everybody underestimated him, not expecting the lean layer of muscle which was hidden under his clothes. But the blows the Joker could pull in a fist fight were nothing in comparison to his blows during knife fights. For him, a knife wasn't a foreign object- it was an extension of his own body. The speed and accuracy at which he could inflict his strikes were unrivaled by all.

The black door stood out, a silver plated sign reading 'Doctor White, Head of Hospital', and the Joker let out a small chortle. He had been envisioning this encounter for days on end. He wanted to feel the rush of killing somebody again before he was to be locked away. He gave the Nurse to Alice, she would have been a more entertaining kill but the Joker was out to be dramatic. The whole of Gotham would be shocked again to find the Joker had managed to kill the good Doctor White, who was Head of the entire Hospital, rather than some Nurse who would remain nameless in the Papers.

He twisted the doorknob open, but it wouldn't budge. The Joker gave a small smile, it meant the room was occupied. He slipped the needle out from between his lips, and went to work. Alice wasn't the only two out of the pair that knew how to pick some locks, the Joker was also highly practiced. The Joker held his ear up to the door, listening in for the faint _click,_ as the moved the needle skillfully through the keyhole. The Joker could've knocked, but that would have ruined the entrance and he wanted it to be big.

 _Click._

With that the Joker barged into the room, kicking the door wide open with the heel of his bare foot. What the Joker hadn't expected was that Boles, his substitute Guard, was going to be in the room, having his lunch break with the good old Doctor.

Frank Bole's sprang into action, and within an instant the Joker was pinned against a bookcase.

"And here I was thinking it was all going smoothly." The Joker muttered to himself.

Boles' grip tightened on his wrists, and pushed the Joker's face further into the hard leather bindings of the books. A wooden shelf dug into his cracked rib cage nearly making him wince or laugh. The Joker had a unique relationship with pain, he believe to truly enjoy inflicting pain onto others you had to enjoy inflicting it onto yourself. Maybe Alice would agree with him, he would have to test out the theory himself.

"Shit," the Good Doctor swore. "I'll call the GCPD."

"Don't bother, I got this." Boles said.

He, and most of the Warden's, hated the GCPD in the same way that the Police hated the Feds- Cash was the only exception, as he used to be on the GCPD. The Police always got up in their business, believing they could do a better job than the Wardens. The GCPD may have caught the insane maniacs, they didn't deal with the lunatics every day. Boles bet they wouldn't last a week in the Asylum, he may have been right with that.

" _Oh_ that's it Boles, hold me tight- _tighter."_ The Joker groaned out in delight, feeling Frank Boles squirm despite holding the reins of power. If one thing made hard men weak, it was when their sexuality was brought into the mix- and the Joker knew how to exploit everybody's area of weakness.

Frank's grip automatically loosened and the Joker used this as leverage to pivot, in a second he whipped round and was face-to-face with Boles. Frank jumped back in surprise, whipping out his signature baton. But Frank didn't use it, the Joker made no move to attack. The Joker stood his back to the shelf, watching Boles with content eyes. Frank Boles' presence hadn't altered the Joker's plan, it had only sped it up.

"I'll call-"

" _Don't."_ Boles hissed out, gripping his baton tighter readying himself for a counter-attack.

If they were alone, the Joker would have been beaten to a pulp by now. It was the Doctor who was saving him from bruising, Frank didn't believe Doctor White would lie to the Police when they asked of a report of the incident. He was definitely right about that. Doctor White did absolutely everything by the books, his inability to bend the rules made him simultaneously the most hated and revered Doctor in Gotham. It was the reason Commissioner Gordon felt safe with placing the Joker under his care, Gordon knew that Doctor White wouldn't let any of his staff leak the Joker's whereabouts to the Papers. His decision to place him under White's care would come back to haunt him.

The Joker didn't step one centimetre out of place, he was like a statue with his eyes fixed on Frank. He broke this stillness when he eventually spoke, "Tell me Boles, how much do you want a _h_ promotion?"

It was Boles turn to freeze out of the unexpected statement. Only Arkham Guards new of the newest vacancy now that one of Heads had been killed in the incident a few days ago, courtesy of Killer Croc. But what was more disturbing was that the Joker knew that Boles wanted the job. It was as if the Joker knew that it was Boles who had let the Croc out of his cell in the first place. But that would have been impossible, Boles thought, not even Killer Croc knew he was part of any plan- Boles had orchestrated the entire situation to his choosing, the Killer Croc was like an animal once you understood it you could manipulate it to perform for you like a dancing monkey. Boles had wound everyone up like toy soldiers and then sat back to watch.

"How did you-"

The Joker t _sked_ calmly, "Answer the question."

Frank Boles was silent, his knuckle had turned white from his hard grip on the baton. If the Joker knew, it meant somebody else knew and told him, and that meant he was at risk of being found out. That thought caused Boles' face to turn the same colour as his knuckle. It was the Joker's voice that distracted him away from his concerns, the Joker was seeming to side with him.

"We all _know_ that job was meant for _uh_ you. But that idiot, Sharp, just _had_ to give it to Banks. Luckily for you, he's dead."

Doctor White interrupted, "Boles, what's going on?"

"Shut up."

Doctor White paled at the hardness of Frank's tone. This man he was witnessing was completely different to the polite man he'd been sitting having lunch with just minutes ago. Whatever interaction was happening between the two intruders in his office had to stop- instinct told the Doctor that, something was going on between the two of them, and that something was not going to end well- at least for him.

Doctor White slyly tried reaching for his phone on the table, but the twisted voice stopped him.

"I _uh_ would _not_ do that."

The Doctor looked up and saw a twistedly sick smile and Boles' hard gaze, it was two against one. The Doctor took a step back towards the far wall, retreating. The Boles who had been lightheartedly joking with him about the inmates he interacted with in the Asylum, had now vanished entirely. The Doctor knew that he was no longer facing only one threat- the Joker- but two.

The Joker continued, ignoring the presence of the Doctor. He'd have plenty of time to pay him his full attention later. But first, he had to focus on the crooked Boles.

"You were supposed to catch the Croc, right- _uh_? That was the plan." The Joker licked his bloodstained mouth causing it to shine emerald red. "But Cash ruined it. North swapped your assignments. Cash _saved_ the day. So now I'll ask again- how much do you want that promotion?"

The Doctor was completely lost, nobody in Gotham- save the GCPD, Batman, and the Asylum workers - knew who Killer Croc was. It was a dark secret that they kept to protect the minds of their city, Gotham had enough to fear as it was. But what the Doctor did pick up on, was that their interaction was resulting in some deal that the Joker was offering up. Doctor White feared the consequences of Boles taking it. Surely, though, nobody's crazy enough to make a deal with the Joker? He hoped. They stood more chance of survival with making a pact with Satan.

"Who told you?" Boles gaze hardened, he didn't like being out of control and he knew that he no longer held the most power in the room.

The Joker t _sked_ again, avoiding Boles' interrogation."Answer the question."

Boles thought for a moment. _How much did he want the promotion?_ Well, he had already technically killed for it- he knew the outcome for letting the Croc out of his cage. But was he greedy and insane enough to make a deal with the Joker over it?

He stared back at the Joker, and spoke, "The promotion's _mine_."

Of course he was.

Doctor White's eye bulged from their sockets, and he tried to protest against Frank's decision but found his tongue to be swollen within his mouth from fear. Unlike the Scarecrow, the Joker didn't require a toxin to make the people of Gotham fear him- the Joker only needed to use his very presence. White prayed that if he remained silent perhaps the two would forget about him and he'd manage to survive the encounter unmaimed, it was a futile dream but a man can hope.

The Joker's sinister face broke into a menacing smile, " _Atta boy._ Now, remember the _girlie_? The blonde one in my room, small and hot-headed? _"_

Frank's eyes narrowed with suspicion, "What about her?"

Of course Frank remembered her. She was the annoying bitch who couldn't keep her mouth shut. That was the problem with Narrow's scum despite being the lowest in the pecking order none of them knew respect. They were liking those yapping Chihuahuas that tried taking on the bigger dogs. It was the reason they all had such a low life expectancy. Chihuahuas can never win against Rottweilers. And Frank Boles wanted to be top dog.

"Catch her quick enough and you might get- _uh_ two new inmates."

Boles' dead eyes stared blankly at the Joker whose lips curled up in disgust. He hated explaining his own punchlines, it always made the joke less amusing. So the Joker tried again, simplifying it all for Frank. Boles plan for the promotion had been intelligent, but that didn't make him an intellectual person. Frank Boles had wasted all of his few brain cells developing a plan which had ultimately failed, and now he needed the guidance of another to get him his desired job. Boles was even stupid and mad enough to follow the Joker's counsel, without thinking it would come at a price. A price that would end up being very costly for him.

"If you check-in with _John-stonnn_ , you might find she has an unwelcomed guest."

Boles' eyes widened with realisation, and the Joker dug with dirty finger nails into the palm of his hands to reduce the urge to gorge the Guard's eyes out. That event could come later. The Joker's list was growing at record breaking speed, but if all went to schedule the list would be reduced by two people by the end of the day.

"Leave the good old Doc with me, come back once you caught her and-" the Joker's finger tips tapped rapidly on the wooden shelf stimulating a jagged drumroll. "That promotion's yours!"

His yellow teeth flashed out, giving Boles his best killer grin- quite literally. Frank caught a whiff of his foul breath and nearly gagged on the stench. The Joker's teeth were rotten, just like his insides and his warped soul. But the smell was nothing compared to the ugly aroma of greed that poured out of Boles. If he managed to recapture the Joker he'd be classed as a hero, but if he managed to capture both the Joker and his accomplice, he'd be a saviour and nothing would stop his from being top. Especially if his accomplice was now a murderer, as the Joker had insinuated. But the Joker wasn't exactly the most reliable person in the world; if anything he was the least.

"How do I know you won't take the opportunity to escape?"

Frank Boles had a right to be sceptic. Doctor White throughout lunch had told him how badly the Joker had reacted to news of going to Arkham. None of it made sense, the Joker was volunteering to get recaptured, all to help Boles become one of the Head Guards. It made about as much sense as the Joker giving Alice advice. However, he had his reasons for both.

Like Sionis, he saw potential in Alice. She was crazy, and getting crazier by the second. But not mad enough to dress up in a costume and run around beating people up for a living, like him and Bats. But she wasn't too far away. At least, not anymore.

The Joker realised that Alice trusted people too much, it was her biggest flaw so of course he'd exploit it. She had trusted Sionis unquestionably, and soon she'd trust him like that as well. The Joker would break her until she was at her rawest form, utterly demented. Then he'd help to tape some of the broken pieces back together, so she was all jagged up inside. He wasn't going to do it because he cared- he didn't have the capacity for caring- he was going to do it because it was fun.

Batman was in retirement at the moment, so he needed a new play toy for the time being- somebody who was intelligent, destructive, and could become as equally as crazy as him. Alice was ticking all of those boxes. And when Bats returned, as the he planned, the Joker would get rid of her. It was that simple. Why have a replica when you can get the original? Her death would be her punishment for the insults, the Joker had decided. But in a way it was also going to be his gift to her.

He didn't like Alice, but he didn't hate her either. She had wanted to die, she probably still wanted to die- only her hatred for Sionis was giving her a reason to live. The Joker would allow her death, and an impressive one- full of pain and torment. He'd give her a much more spectacular death than a simple wrist slit, he'd make her death into a form of art. Then after it was over, he'd string her up for the whole world to see. Alice wouldn't just be _one_ of his victims, she'd be _the_ victim. The one that everybody remembered whenever his name was brought up into conversation, because her limp and broken body would truly project what a maniac he was inside. It would be his gift to her because Alice would no longer be a nameless and invisible person from The Narrows, Alice would always be remembered.

The Joker rolled his eyes at Boles question, Frank wasn't looking towards the bigger picture. The Joker hadn't wanted to go to Arkham, at least not until he found out that his precious Batman was out of action. Now, he couldn't wait. And the most ingenious part of his plan was that everybody still thought that he didn't want to go there. The Joker's 'attempted escape' would be further proof for their blind eyes. It meant everybody in Gotham would feel safe and secure now that the Joker was locked away. It would be the calmness before the storm. And this storm was going to be killer.

The Joker needed to go to Arkham now, because he knew that he alone wasn't enough to lure the Batman out of his cave. The Joker needed somebody else. Somebody who people feared, somebody who knew Batman just as well as he did- if not more. Somebody who's combined force with him, would have Gotham paralyzed with terror. Gotham was going to be forced to beg on their hands and knees for the alleged killer of Harvey Dent to return.

"There's someone I want- _uh_ to meet," he ran his tongue over his chapped lips. "Somebody who _definitely_ has a brain."

Frank stared at him with dead eyes, the connection not tying within his brain. Boles was too occupied thinking about his new job role, and the pay bonus it would bring. He decided to risk losing the Joker for it.

Boles released his grip on his baton, and the Joker grinned- he knew what decision the Guard had made.

"You've got ten minutes tops." Boles said, trying to stare the Joker down. The Joker returned his gaze with black eyes darkening from anticipation, his wide smile growing by the second. Boles had no idea that he had just sold off his soul. The Joker was going to take and take from him until he was nothing more than a lifeless body- which he _would_ be by the time the Joker had finished killing him.

Frank turned to leave, but a weak voice momentarily halted his exit.

"Wait! Frankie! You can't do this to me, I thought we were friends!" White's quivering voice informed Frank that he was shaking uncontrollably, despite Boles facing the opposite direction.

Frank didn't even have the decency to turn around to address him with his next, and final statement, "I've only known you for two days."

And with that, Frank Boles left the poor Doctor in the merciless in the hands of the Joker.

The Joker locked the door on Frank's exit to ensure he'd have no rude interruptions, and turned slowly-stalking his prey. Ever since he had awoken from his coma, he felt the craving to kill again. He was going to make this own memorable, it was his feast after his fast. The Joker stared gleefully at Doctor White, who was bundled up in the corner of his room, too shaken to even consider running to the phone in a last ditch attempt to survive. His pathetic nature made the Joker grimace, he had hoped his first killing of the list would have had a little fight in him. The fighters were the most fun to murder, because when they broke they revealed to the world how much of a coward they truly are. Still, the Joker could make do with a chicken.

He picked up the staple gun which lay on the Doctor's desk, and tossed it between each of his hands testing its weight.

"The _things-uh_ I will do with this." He muttered aloud to himself.

"But first-" he slammed the metal stapler back down on the desk, the sound riveted through the room and the Doctor clenched his eyes tight and let out a dry sob. "Do you happen to have any black pens?"

His mask was almost complete.


	10. Are We There Yet?

**Chapter Six- Are We There Yet?**

I knew that the whiplash was going to come back to haunt me, but I had never anticipated it would ever become this malevolent. After Boles had broken into the Nurse's room and tackled me to the floor like he was Hulk Hogan, the light ringing in my brain had transformed into a wailing siren- a siren which had no mute button. The unsteady ride wasn't helping, the continuous wriggling on the van was turning my head into mush worse than the slushy green jello that they had attempted feeding me for pudding at the Hospital.

They hadn't bothered letting me change outfits, clearly murderers don't get the right to clean clothes. The Nurse's costume, which I had stolen from their Laundry Room, stunk of body-odour and was covered in dried blood- mainly Johnston's, but partially mine; Boles shoulder blade during the take-down had smashed right against my nose giving me a god-awful nosebleed. The bastard had probably broken it. I _definitely_ would never win 'Miss Arkham' now (although, I doubted that was even a thing).

My similarities between the Joker appeared to now be growing in length, it seemed that he wasn't the only one with a Kill List: Roman Sionis and Frank Boles. At least mine was short and simple, his was probably so long that it could've been made into a leather bound book. In fact, it would probably be quicker and easier naming the people in the world he _didn't_ want dead.

The possibility of killing Sionis had now faded into a distant dream. There wasn't a chance in Hell that I'd be able to escape from Arkham- growing a pair of wings seemed more likely. I'd be locked away for the rest of my life, how ever long that would be. Instinct told me that the inmates would try to devour the fresh-meat. Screw showing up in a Nurses clothes, I may as well have been dressed up as a goddamn Twinkie.

The mood in the van wasn't helping the situation either. To say the ride to the Asylum was tense would have been the biggest understatement of my life. Everybody was on edge. Everybody except the Joker of course, who was currently wedged in beside of me tunelessly humming carnival music. It seemed fitting in a way, soon we'd both be entering the House of Horrors. His jittering foot was sending vibrations up my body where they stung invisible needles into my brain. The sly looks towards me from the corner of his eyes informed me that he knew exactly what he was doing. _The fucking masochist._

It was the closest I'd ever been, or possibly ever be, with him. We were shoulder to shoulder. Judging from his foul stench, he hadn't been given that bath which Cash asked for. Not that I was in a place to criticise, I wasn't exactly smelling of roses and lavender either. Somehow he'd managed to get his clown makeup on again, although I couldn't see it in full glory as it was hidden away under a Hannibal Lecture-like mask. They had attached his muzzle on upon capture. Like I had figured, he hadn't gone down without a fight and he had bitten back, quite literally. Somebody had lost part of their ear, another person lost their whole finger.

 _The two of us looked like we were in shitty Halloween outfits_ , I thought bitterly. _Or the stars of some fucking Ruggero Deodato movie._ You know, the guy who directed 'Cannibal Holocaust'? In truth, I'd never actually seen it. But with a name like that, it wasn't hard to work out what the content of the film entailed. Lots of blood, and a heck of a lot of guts. 

The biting attacks were nothing when compared with the horror which he had bestowed on Doctor White. I'd listened in to the Nurses gossip whilst they made arrangements to send me to Arkham which hadn't taken them more than an hour to do; I was from The Narrows, I had the same amount of rights as a stray dog taken in by the Pound, which is to say- none whatsoever. Apparently, the mess on White's face had made my crime look like child's play. Rumour had it that the Joker pulped Doctor White's face open with a stapler gun like it was no more than a grapefruit. He started his torture on White's private member, before attracting his attention to White's eyes. Some of the staples went so deep that they got lodged into the Doctor's brain. Once he had sensed others coming, he just started bashing. But not with the metal stapler. With his bare hands. He didn't stop until the Doctor's square-faced head was no more than a pile of sludge.

I looked down at the Joker's hands, which were drumming heavily away against his fidgeting thigh. I grimaced. There, clear as the light of day, right under his index fingernail was a meaty strand of red flesh which clearly wasn't his own. Remind me again never to get on the Joker's bad books, being on Cash's was quite enough for me.

Cash sat directly opposite from me, absolutely seething, glaring holes into all three of our heads- Boles', the Joker's, and mine. My actions had clearly pissed him off. Bless his heart, he had always thought that I had stood the chance of recovering from my breakdown. Obviously, judging from the recently deceased Nurse, it wasn't meant to be. Cash could blame all three of us for the outcome of the day, but personally- I'd only blame Boles.

If Frank Boles had been a good Guard, he would have stayed sanctioned outside the door during his lunch break, especially given it was the Joker's last possible opportunity of escape from the clutches of Arkham. But Boles hadn't. And now there were two new corpses in the morgue. I didn't blame Boles that though, I didn't care about the deaths he had failed to prevent. The only thing I blamed Boles for was catching me. Sionis could have been dead by now, but now he'd only ever be dead in my dreams. Boles was going to pay for this.

I slammed my foot down on Boles, and he hissed out in agony. Maybe the Joker wasn't the only masochist in the van, yet again the list of similarities was growing. I may have been worried about it, if I wasn't so preoccupied with being furious.

"That's it, you Bitch!" Boles shuffled beside me, trying to unhook his Taser from his belt but his fat fingers which were swollen from his apparent alcoholic tendencies made the job difficult. It was something I had seen a lot growing up, my father had had the same issue.

"Don't." Cash huffed out, speaking the first words of the journey. "She's crazy, she's not in control of her actions."

My nose wrinkled at the statement, Cash still defended me despite of all that I had done it. At times he reminded me of the Morrison's, the family who'd taken me in after my father died. Whenever I had done something wrong, neither or them shouted at me or smacked me like my parents had growing up. The two of them just looked at me in disappointment. It caused something to tug inside my stomach which I didn't know the name of, I'd never experienced it before living with them. It felt like some weird reverse psychology trick, I'd choose a slap or a shouting match over that sensation any day and still would. Cash reminded me of the Morrison's because he had the ability to make the feeling return. It made me want to projectile vomit.

"Don't tell me the Bitch doesn't deserve it. You saw the mess she made of Linda- Linda'll be lucky if she's able to get an open casket funeral with that huge fuckin' hole in her neck." Boles turned to address me. "What she'd ever even do to you, huh Bitch? Piss in your jello?"

I stared right back at his ugly scarred face, refusing to answer. My lips curled up, wanting desperately to spit at him, but the distinctive blue light in the corner of my sight made my mouth refuse. If I _even_ blinked in an aggressive manner, Boles would shock me. I knew it, he knew it. So instead I simply stared.

"Put away the Taser, we've had enough violence for one day." Cash said, agitatedly.

It wasn't just the three of us he blamed for the events that took place just a few hours ago. Cash also blamed himself. He hadn't been in the Hospital at the time. He had been at home, recovering from a spinal fracture which I had figured was the result of the incident that had caused Frank Boles to take over his role. But as soon as he had heard on the News about the two deaths at the Hospital, he had taken a cab to personally help escort the two new inmates to Arkham. But _if_ he _had_ been there then Nurse Johnston would still have her major arteries intact, Doctor White wouldn't have had his eyes pulped into nothingness with a stapler, and somebody else would still have their finger attached.

Frank snapped, "Don't tell me you're actually protecting this lunatic!"

Cash eyes narrowed away from me and towards Boles, "That's our job. We're paid to protect the staff and inmates, from themselves and each other. For someone so focused on becoming a Head Guard, I figured you would've known this."

It instantly shut Boles up. Of course, he still gave Cash a threatening sneer as he didn't want to be seen to back down so easily, but his look had held little promise of retaliation. Boles wasn't a Head Guard _yet,_ so Cash was still his superior- not equal, as he liked to believe. I prayed on my lucky stars (not that I had any whatsoever) that Boles would never be given that role. Arkham was going to be Hellish enough without having one of the Chiefs of Staff out to get me. People should take bets on how long I'd last there as it was. I'd given myself a week tops, and _I_ was being optimistic.

Frank turned off his cattle prod reluctantly, and clipped it back onto his belt.

"Remind me again how you managed to catch them?" Cash asked Frank, his voice full of questioning.

Boles stumbled, and for the first time I saw him flustered. _"Em. Eh._ Doctor White told me to find her. She- _eh_ \- wasn't the only one there. When I apprehended her, I ran back to White's room where I found the Joker."

I watched a thin bead of sweat drip down the back of Boles' neck, and nearly scoffed. Something wasn't adding up. I looked over skeptically at Cash, and his eyes momentarily flickered back to mine this time they didn't hold anger. We were both on the same wavelength, neither of us believed that bullshit.

The Joker's humming increased in volume and speed. The erratic tune helped to quicken our already fast pulsating hearts. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was winding us all up like Jack-in-the-boxes, waiting to see who'd burst first.

"Why'd he ask for Johnston?" I asked, suspiciously.

Boles hard gaze tore into mine, "I'm not answering that for you, you fucking psychotic murdering bitch."

 _Fair point._

The hums quickened still. The coils were turning faster. It wouldn't be long now/

"Answer the question." Cash stated monotonically, backing me up.

Boles' head twisted around in disbelief, as did mine, towards Cash who only stared back at Frank blankly. Bole's turned to look back at me accusingly, as if I had some sort of hold over his colleague. I only gave him my cyanide sweet smile in return, and watched smugly as his face morphed into disgust. It was pleasing to know that Frank hated me just as much as I hated him, it meant I wasn't wasting any of my rage on somebody who didn't give one single shit about me.

"No idea," His gaze shifted back to Cash, and he retorted. "Why don't you ask him? I think you'll currently find him in the Morgue."

Cash shouted, springing up from his seat, "And whose fault is that?"

Frank jumped up on instinct, the two of them facing off chest-to-chest.

In the background, the tune had stopped altogether. The only sound being heard was the sound of heavy breathing. So they had both popped open at the same time.

The overhead light lit up a deep purple bruise which shone out from his cheekbone and was almost identically matched with the one which lay over his eye. If his face was that battered, I dreaded to think how beaten the rest of his body was. There it was again, a thin trickle of humanity that prevented me from becoming a monster like the freak beside of me. I may hate Cash for his morality which I lacked completely, but I guess your perception of a person changes slightly when they save you from getting electrocuted by their power-hungry work associate.

"Don't get- _uh snappy_ now, Cash?" the brooding presence beside me spoke, before cackling away. He sure knew how to pick his moments.

Cash's pursed his mouth, and his cut on his lip threatened to crack open. He let out a few deep breathes, breathing them straight into Boles' face. Frank clenched his fist in return, moving his right hand towards his Taser, getting ready for action. My eyes widened in excitement, this sure beat watching _GCN._

But then the most anticlimactic thing possible happened.

"You ain't worth it." Cash spoke the words out slowly, letting all the syllables linger in the thick air. He then reluctantly took his seat again, and winced as his muscles hit the hard surface.

It was questionable whether he was referring to Boles or the Joker. My guess was it was them both.

Boles stared him down a second longer, before sitting back down next to me, stealing all my leg room again. It was a petty sign of dominance, giving him some intense power trip. Sick bastard probably had wet dreams about being dominant.

Cash banged his baton on the metal gate that separated the back of the van from the driver. In an instant it pulled open by an extremely sweaty and red-faced Guard.

"How much longer?" Cash asked, his voice strained from holding back his aggravation. I could tell how much restraint he had used to withdraw himself away from Boles. It had been impressive, but also deeply disappointing. I had been _so_ hoping that their encounter was going to end with Frank's face smashed into a bleeding pulp. I would've paid good money to see it too.

I got the feeling that I wasn't the only person who felt as if we'd been in the van for years on end. Although, suffering through this trip was probably better than my fate outside this moving tin can. I should be more thankful for the extra minutes I'm getting to stay alive. So much for being optimistic, I already knew I was destined for a graveyard.

The Guard looked at the faceless driver, who was concentrated on the road.

"Traffic's a bitch, today. Maybe another-" the sound of a horn cut off the rest of his sentence and then he let out an unholy string of curses. " _Motherfucker!_ Did you see that little shit? Dick swerves right in front of me."

His hand bounced back on the horn in anger, and somebody else's horn beeped back in retort. Road rage was a common occurrence in Gotham, it gave average people the chance to express their pent up anger without feeling the urge to blow up a building. That may or may not have been, a not-so-subtle dig at one of the Joker's favourite past times.

The red-faced man clarified, for our deaf ears, the beeps had echoed loudly inside of the metal box, "Traffic ain't so good. Be at least five minutes."

He slammed the gateway closed, without waiting for a response.

It wasn't hard to work out why the passenger driver was so much on edge. Most people were worried that the Joker's goons would attempt to break him out in the same way that they had tried hijacking Harvey Dent. But I thought that his reign as Clowned Prince had passed, he had unwillingly abdicated since his defeat with Batman. All of his followers had probably scattered like cockroaches, never to be seen in the daylight again. We were both going to end up taking our last breathes in the Asylum.

 _Unless-_ I froze, a moment of clarity spewing out from the whirlwind of the concussion I had. Maybe there _was_ a reason that the Joker had stayed silent for the majority of the trip. Maybe, somewhere deep inside of his psychotically twisted mind, a plan was formulating.

I turned my head slowly and curiously towards him, searching for a hint. His mischievous eyes flickered down at me and gave a rapid wink. I knew under his muzzle he was grinning like a mad man. It took all my strength not to return the smile. Perhaps I did have some lucky stars after all.

The van halted suddenly, and my head whipped forward violently. Another blast of the horn was sounded, followed by yet another string of swear words. My concussion hit my brain again with the force of an avalanche.

Then again, maybe not.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Just a short, filler chapter- not much point in it other than it was fun to write! Sorry for the long wait, had to finish my English course work for the year in one week which was near impossible since I'd left it all to the last minute; my ability to procrastinate is both a skill and a severe weakness.. Anyways, big things are coming up soon, so excited! And yet again, thank you all so much for the reviews and I hope you all enjoyed!**


	11. Friends That Slay Together Stay Together

**Part Two**

 **Chapter Seven – Friends That Slay Together, Stay Togethe** **r**

The van's engine had cut out, and not a minute later the heavy iron doors squeaked open and we were all blinded by lights. A sea of reporters stood safely behind the metal gates, reporting the action live, as well as horde of Gotham's locals. After the incident at the Hospital, word had quickly spread of the GCPD _'s_ plan to escort the Joker to the Asylum. So everyone had prepared.

The scene before us reminded me of the crowd that stood outside the gates in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory', except the mass wasn't a group of overexcited individuals- they were practically a lynch mob. I knew that the huge wall had been erected to prevent inmates escaping but today it served another purpose, to prevent the public trying to rip the inmates' heads off. I was nearly thankful for its presence.

Waves of abuse were being hurtled at the van, the only way to make the scene more dramatic would be to let some of the townsfolk hold pitchforks. I didn't care though, about their rage. By the end of the day I'd no longer be some invisible person from The Narrows, but a household name. I nearly cracked out a smile, but Boles' hand wrapped tightly around my arm and he shoved me out of the van to escort me inside, which made me instead grimace in pain.

I stared at the gathering as we exited the van, a flash of peroxide blonde catching my eye. There, in the midst of the mob, dressed in a hot pink outfit, was Stacy Gleeson of _GCN._ And I hadn't been the only one to spot her.

I turned to look over my shoulder at the Joker, who was being ushered out by three Guards in riot gear, his eye's had narrowed in on her like a hawks. Stacy Gleeson stood oblivious to this; facing the opposite direction to stare down into her camera lens, which was recording all the commotion. I was slightly disappointed that I'd never get to see the fear-mongering piece she'd devise. They had kept me _so_ entertained during my hospital days.

If Arkham's extreme precautions weren't funny enough- the Joker was already in shackles and a muzzle, now he needed three highly equipped escorts- the badly aimed egg, which flew straight passed me, and smashed against Boles' thickly padded uniform, was.

I laughed, the Joker laughed, and then we both laughed even more as we heard the chants of abuse increase in volume. Evidently, Gotham city people didn't take kindly to murderers who thought their situation was more than a little amusing. We must have been quite the site, a psychotic clown and a woman dressed as the Nurse from Hell, both in chains, in absolute hysterics whilst getting locked away into the infamous Arkham Asylum. _Boy, was I losing it big time._

Of course, I didn't find anything about my predicament entertaining. Although, my fears had decreased when I came to the conclusion that the Joker had a hidden card up his sleeve. Not that he'd be willing to share his trump card with me. I was just hopeful that I'd be able to tailgate off of whatever exit he was planning. After all we that had happened between us the past few weeks, I figured I deserved it. Heck, maybe he'd even turn a blind eye to it.

That was optimism at it's highest.

Boles' grip tightened still, as we turned away from the crowd and headed up the narrow stairs that led to the entrance. I stumbled clumsily to keep up, an action which only caused him to increase his pace. We stopped by the door, and waited for security on the other side to give us the all clear and unlock the heavily secure door. I took the opportunity to take a peep upwards to inspect the building which would be my home, for who knew how long.

The place was gigantic. So big, that I didn't have time to even count the level of floors it was on. It had a Victorian-esque feel to it, it being built with large grey bricks that made it resemble a factory but at the same time, somehow managing to seem as if its design had been drawn from a Gothic novel which had been hugely popular in the time period. The sheer height of the building, and the fact that all of its windows (even on ground level) were barred shut, meant one thing was for certain- escaping via bed sheet rope would not be possible. _Amateur,_ I know. We aren't all as smart as Andy from 'The Shawshank Redemption' when it comes to prison breakouts.

The doors finally opened, revealing two more Guards in riot gear. Boles flung me inside, and marched me along a thin strip of corridor which quickly opened up into large hallway. The interior seemed like it belonged more in a lavish hotel than an Asylum, and if it weren't for Arkham's notorious reputation, I may have been led to believe that I would have actually enjoyed my time here.

The Main Hall had three corridors leading off from it; the narrow one which led to the entrance and exit of the Asylum, and two parallel passageways which took you to either the East or West Wing of Arkham. A grand stairwell had been centred in the middle of the Main Hall, and it lived up to its name. Half way up, the stairwell split into two, both stairways ending up on the floor above which also held many unseen corridors. It made the Main Hall have a well, allowing me to count the number of levels the Asylum was actually on. I got to nine, and that wasn't including the floors which I knew lay below our feet.

A bald man, who had grown out a beard to make up for his lack of hair, stood alone by the bottom of the stairs, and spoke. His voice distracting me away for my internal eye spy. I was trying to spot an elevator, there was no way a place as big as this could be without several.

"Didn't expect you to be here Cash." His voice, as well as his face, was void of emotion. If anything, he looked bored by the whole affair. The Joker didn't even seem to be his top priority.

Cash's heavy footsteps echoed through the large Hall, as he walked from the back of the group into the centre of the front; in between me and the Joker. One of his footfalls was quicker than the other, he was limping, which was probably the reason why he hadn't made the decision to lead the group into the Asylum.

"Heard the News, so I came." He gave the stranger the same reason he'd given Boles.

"You should be at home, recovering." The man didn't make it sound like he cared for Cash's welfare, he made it sound like a fact. It threw me off, I wasn't sure whether the two got along or not.

Cash nodded to his colleague, agreeing. "I'll head back soon as these two are taken care of."

The bald man nodded back, seemingly satisfied with the answer he received. I was perplexed by their whole interaction, so I risked a side glance at the Joker to see if he'd offer any clues. But he hadn't even been paying attention, his eyes were flitting across the room at rapid speed, analysing weaknesses.

"I'll make sure to give a good word to Sharp." The man said.

Cash scoffed aloud, and I could've sworn I saw the stranger's mouth momentarily twitch upwards in amusement. Neither of them seemed to respect this 'Sharp' person.

Frank Boles spoke next, his voice filled with need and desperation, even if I _had_ liked him, it still would have made me cringe. "Does Sharp know about what _I've_ done? That I _single-handedly_ recaptured the Joker, and his accomplice?"

Boles pushed me forward into the Hall like I was some prized possession.

In one sentence, he'd managed to demote me from a crazed murderer, to some brainwashed goon who wasn't even a partner in crime, but a sidekick. I had thought my period of being invisible to Gotham was over. Apparently not. Now I was cursed to forever live under the Joker's crime shadow. I may become a household name, but that would only last a few days at most. Compared to the real bad guys in Gotham, I was nothing. There goes that fantasy of becoming notorious.

The other Guard's stifled at Boles' questions. It was clear that I wasn't the only person who wasn't a fan of him.

The stranger kept his face impassive, "Quincy Sharp knows. As you know, there is a position for one of the Head Guard available. Sharp had said that tomorrow morning, he'd like to discuss with you, in person, whether or not you'd be a suitable candidate for the role."

 _Fuck._ I was categorically screwed. The other Guard's this time stiffened completely. It appeared that they too, had thought the same thing.

Boles looked around the room victoriously, his hard features still looking tough, but beaming with pride. I felt the urge to spit on him again.

" _Con-grat-ulationsss Bolessss_." A muffled voice hissed out from under his mask. The room turned deathly quiet, and I witnessed the bald man's eyebrows knit together in a concerned manner. He wasn't happy about the Joker's smugness, he wasn't happy at all.

The Joker was staring at Frank Boles with pleased eyes, as if he was genuinely pleased. Boles didn't meet his gaze, looking down awkwardly at the floor as if his mother had just discovered his secret _Playboy_ magazine collection. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Frank Boles even appeared to be looking _guilty._ But I brushed the thought away, it didn't make any sense.

Only Cash, out of all the Guards, was immune to the Joker's words and spoke, refusing to let the Joker get the satisfaction of scaring everybody's speech away. "Where'd you want the clown?"

"Maximum security, intensive treatment."

"You give me, _uh,_ too much credit." He chuckled away.

Cash scoffed again, "Nice try clown."

He nodded at the Guards to take the Joker to the East Wing, where I supposed all the other high profile cases went. And the group of five riot equipped Guards began to usher my previous room buddy out. But his shouts stopped them in their tracks. His voice boomed up the well, echoing down all the corridors. He sure knew how to make his presence known to everyone.

"Wait- _uh,_ I said _WAIT_!"

They did, all five of them turned hesitantly towards the stranger at the stair case unsure what to do. The bald man looked at the Joker, indifferently, waiting for him to continue.

He did, "Where's, _uh, Alicccceee_ going to go?"

The heart pulsated in my chest.

The bald man's face went from indifferent to blatantly confused.

"Alice?" he asked the Joker.

"Yeah, ya know," he rolled his eyes slowly, "Short, blonde- _uh._ She's dressed up as a Nurse. Pretty hard to spot."

The bald man still gave no response, and the Joker had to tilt his head towards me twice to reveal the answer. I felt my cheeks flame up from embarrassment.

Who needed explosives to rob a bank? I could've just walked in and exited, I seemed to be that invisible to everybody.

The bald man's eyes didn't widen on realisation of who I was, he only frowned.

"I didn't know you got along so well."

"What can I say?" the Joker asked rhetorically, grinning only with his eyes as his mouth was covered. "She grows on you like a tumour, or maybe like _ah_ parasite."

I picked up on the reference and looked towards him, he gave me another minuscule wink and I couldn't help but grin back.

The Joker's words told me that he knew that I was planning on using his future escape attempt, as a chance to evacuate myself. And that meant one thing- that he _was_ actually planning a breakout! The hope of killing Sionis may have still been a dream, but it at least now it had the opportunity to be made into reality.

All the other Guard's looked on, disgusted at what they thought was some twisted form of friendship. But they couldn't have been more wrong. I still disliked the Joker, but it had downgraded from the hatred I had felt when he smugly shoved the truth about Sionis in my face. For some reason though, he wanted us to stick together. I pinned it down to him wanting possession of his latest toy, I wasn't naive enough to think that he saw me as anything more than an object. I'd never be truly safe with him, but even sticking with him was less risky than going Arkham alone. Even if his mind changed more rapidly than the tides.

The bald man took some time to reply, choosing his next words carefully.

"Alice needs to get psychologically checked, to determine where best in Arkham she is suited. In maximum security we split the males and females up, neither of you would cross paths again."

 _Well shit._ That was my chances of having my own personal guard dog, out the window.

"What was that, Doc?" The Joker spoke slowly, emphasising every word. His tone had gone from jovial to downright furious.

The bald man ignored the underlying threat, "The name's William North. I'm just a Guard, not a Doctor."

The Joker stood still for a moment letting silence linger in the air, then in a split instant he tried lunging forward knowing he wouldn't get far with the army of five surrounding him. Still the movement had made North flinch backwards, and the Joker was dragged out of the room in fits of giggles. He was more hormonal than a menopausal woman.

After they had left, it was just me, Cash, Boles and North, left standing in the room. They all looked at me accusingly, as if I was the one to blame for the Joker's infatuation with me. But I didn't pay heed. I was occupied trying to come up with another survival strategy. So far I had zilch.

I was back to square one, I'd be dead within a week.

"Boles, you take her to Doctor Monroe's office. Cash, I'd like a word."

North and Cash watched me exit through the West wing. Whatever they were talking about, I could lay bets that it was something to do about me and the Joker's supposed kinship.

* * *

The walk to the office was awkward and silent, not that I would've wanted to make small talk with Boles anyway. He had cheered up, as in released his iron clamp grip on my arm, it may have had something to do with his happy thoughts on getting the promotion. Boles didn't even care about the egg yolk that was had dried a pale yellow against his black uniform, it made it look like a bird had just shat all over him.

Boles unlocked a door in the middle of a corridor with an electronic key. I watched slyly, as he tucked it away again into a zip pocket in the front of his black trousers. He then whisked me into the empty room, pushed me back onto a slouched psychiatric chair that meant I could only stare up at the blinding light on the ceiling I felt like I was at some dentists. That feeling lasted only seconds and ended when Boles attached leather binds around the base of my body so I couldn't get up, it was more like I was away to be administered the lethal injection.

He left without saying a word, and I was abandoned in an empty room.

I focused on the droning buzzing sound that the LED light above me emitted, its noise lulling me away from my intangible thoughts and into some weird place of tranquility that I never knew even existed.

"They rig the lights to produce white noise on purpose," a male's voice spoke, his entrance had gone unnoticed to me. I didn't know how long he'd been watching me stare up into the ceiling, in truth, it made me feel like an idiot. "It helps calm people. Sometimes, even lulls patients to sleep like little babies."

I pivoted my head in the direction of the stranger's voice; it was calming but with the right dosage of professionalism that inform you who was in charge of the situation. It was almost recognisable, but staring up at the lights had made my vision become tainted with coloured splodges, so I couldn't see who the voice belonged to.

"New patient I presume?" he asked.

I hesitated before answering, figuring there was no point delaying my psychiatric screening- I was going to be stuck here. "The newest. Name's Alice Chill."

"Doctor Hay."

I frowned, I had thought I was going to meet a 'Monroe'.

"Unusual name." I stated.

I could hear his smile in his voice, "I happen to be an unusual person. So what brings you to this _fine_ establishment?"

Sarcasm dripped off of his words, at least I wasn't the only person in the room who didn't like Arkham.

"I murdered somebody." The coloured blots were still in my vision, but I refused to blink them away, not wanting to appear crazier than I already looked. Not that it was going to sway his opinion of me, I was already dressed up as a Nurse and strapped down onto a chair. Christian Grey eat your heart out, this was some kinky shit.

"Murder? That's mediocre."

I frowned, this time out of offense. But the Doctor continued, "Most people here at least attempt to go for a mass genocide."

"I'll make a mental note to aim for that the next time." I muttered out, slightly peeved that my heinous crime had yet again been downgraded.

First I was some mere accomplice, now I wasn't violent enough to be entertaining? The staff of Arkham were out to insult me.

He ignored my mocking statement, and continued, "Why did you kill her?"

"It was either her or me." I answered truthfully but vaguely, not caring to elaborate.

"Schizophrenia." I could hear the scrawl of his pen on a pad of paper.

I scoffed at his deduction skills, "More like the Joker."

The Doctor paused before continuing, his voice verging on gleeful. "So he's finally here. In Arkham."

It wasn't the reaction I had expected from a Psychiatrist. I figured they'd all be fearing for their lives. I froze when I realised that something wasn't adding up. Surely the Chief of Staff would have warned all Asylum workers about the Joker's move date. And if not, then he surely would have seen it on the news or seen all the reporters standing outside the gates: they'd all been causing quite the commotion.

"Of course, I say this from a professional viewpoint." He spoke, covering his tracks. "The Joker's case file is very interesting, as in it is non-existent. A painted clown terrorises the streets, and nobody even knows his true name. You would think with a face that badly scarred, somebody would recognise him under his costume."

The thought had already crossed my mind when he was still in his coma. I'd come to the conclusion he'd probably murdered all ties with his past life, for whatever the reason. He had probably just done it for fun. That seemed to be the main motivation within his twisted head.

But I didn't say any of this aloud. Instead I stayed quiet, still on edge. If I had a sixth sense, it would be going haywire at the moment. The Doctor seemed to notice my change in behaviour, which wasn't surprising. He _was_ a psychiatrist after all.

"What's with the scars, Alice? You seem to have acquired a few of your own." His hand wrapped around my stitched arm that lay dormant in handcuffs, under the binds. Then he squeezed, his fingernails breaking the tissue.

I felt a thin trickle of blood spill out as I whined in pain, trying desperately to thrash away from his grip. I didn't know what sort of unorthodox methods Arkham used, but I was willing to bet that this wasn't one of them.

I cursed him out, until he let go. Then I cursed him out some more.

"With that kind of language, you'll fit right in with the locals. It's good to know that I won't have to worry about you making friends." He taunted me.

I turned my head, and although I couldn't see him, I still spat in his direction. Praying that my salvia would hit him smack in the centre of his face.

The whole time he managed to somehow keep his professional demeanour, "Save your fight for shower time. I've heard for the women it can get slightly messy."

"I'll take that on board." I tried to hiss out but, with the flow of blood that was seeping out my wrist, it came off more as a wheeze.

It was the second time today the vein had been opened, and the blood loss was catching up on me, just like my Karma. All I wanted to do was shut my eyes and drift off. The Doctor had been right, the droning noise did have the ability to make people tired. For the second time today, I found myself battling to stay awake. But this time I was even more determined to win.

My pulse roared in my ears, but I still managed to hear the Doctor's next words with complete clarity.

"You aren't feeling sleepy now, are you Alice? I wouldn't judge you if you do nod off. Of course," He paused, and let out a small chuckle. "I can't promise that you'd ever wake up again."

I froze rigid from shock.

This man was no doctor, he was a patient. It had taken me long enough. I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand flew over it in an instant.

" _Relax,_ " he breathed out heavily into my ear. "We won't hurt you, not yet anyways. Save your fear for another time."

 _We?_

I blinked away the splodges no longer caring about vanity, my life was on the line! My eyes adjusted, and I was face to face with the blue eyed demon whose face had become infamous within The Narrows.

" _Scarecrow_." My voice was muffled against his hand, but he had still managed to hear and my fear gave him a small smile.

Trusting that I had the common sense not to cry out for help, or knowing that I'd be too gobsmacked to be able to even consider speaking, he removed his hand and undid the leather straps by my body. I sat up instantly, instinctively needing the opportunity to defend myself for any oncoming attack, and placed pressure on my bleeding vein which had, again, become a waterfall of red.

I whipped around to look at my escape option, but it had been barricaded by an iron chair so that nobody could enter or exit without a struggle. _Damn my luck._

His voice shifted my attention back to him, "I have to admit, I'm slightly disappointed that you didn't work it out earlier. I had been hoping to finally meet somebody intellectual in this dump."

"How did you get in here?" I asked, my voice numb in my throat. It's hard to feel the humiliation of an insult when you are terrified out of your mind. I felt my life expectancy reduce from days, to the number of minutes on an egg timer.

He gave another small smile, and pushed the thick black glasses up his nose. He may have been dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit, but he still managed to come off as a professional.

"I used to work here. Nobody knows the Asylum better than me."

It sounded like a boast. In fact, it was one.

"If you know the Asylum so well, why haven't you escaped?" Damn my big mouth. It didn't know how to stay shut, even on the brink of death.

But I got a small twinge of satisfaction when my comment wiped the smirk off of Scarecrow's face. But that quickly disappeared as he dove forward, before I could get a chance to protect myself. His long arms pinned mine at the sides, he stood towering over me, and our foreheads were touching.

" _The Batman_." His voice went deep and deadly. Our eyes held each other's gazes, icy blue against dark cobalt, but I refused to look away.

He held me there a few seconds longer, squeezing me like he was a boa constrictor. I didn't flinch. Then he let me loose and took a step back. Under his thick rimmed glasses, I could tell he was impressed. But I was just confused. It appeared nobody had the decency to tell him that the Bats was officially out of action- not that I blamed anyone for keeping that information away from him. One thing was for sure, I sure as Hell wouldn't be the one to mention it. Not after the assault he had done to my wrist.

My brain span, as I thought of ways to use it against him. Once he was finished with me, he'd know the true meaning of intellectual.

"So you're just giving up cause a caped crusader is running around, patrolling the street dressed up as a fucking bat?" Was my snide remark. I really didn't know how to shut it.

He ignored me entirely, and shifted the conversation back to the Joker.

"How long were you with the Joker?"

I immediately got sceptical, "Couple of weeks. _Why_?"

"I'm surprised your loose lips never ended up getting you killed."

It was both a warning and a threat, and I tried not to audibly gulp.

So I lied, the man seemed to be interested in the Joker- I'd use it as leverage. If a fib or two, meant I'd survive a little longer, I'd take it.

"You know what they say- friends that slay together, stay together."

But Scarecrow didn't completely buy it, letting out a small frown. Before he could get the chance to question me, we both heard a noise and turned to face the door. Somebody was trying to get in but the iron chair under it was doing it's duty, keeping the door securely shut. Suddenly the door shook with a heavy pound, and I nearly jumped.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" Boles deep voice wrung through, and it was followed by more bangs, each one getting louder.

I turned to face Scarecrow who still looked more like a doctor than an inmate.

"We don't have much time." He stated.

 _No shit._

"You have the chance of surviving," he started.

"You think I'll survive?" I cut him off, in shock.

He repeated himself, annoyed at the interruption. "You have a _chance_."

My optimism soared, a chance was better than nothing.

"If you stick with me." He added, watching smugly as my face fell from happiness. Just as quickly as my optimism had risen, it had plummeted again.

From one mass murdering psychopath to another. Anyone else feel their as if their life is going round in circles here?

But before I could ask him why he was so willing to help me out, the door burst open.

Boles scanned the room, he saw me free and having a 'cosy' conversation with Scarecrow, and gave off his most sinister smile, yet. The last thing I remember was that I was on the floor, withering uncontrollably. The bastard had Tased me.

* * *

I regained consciousness, who knew how long after the event. I certainly didn't. All I knew was that I was all bandaged up again, and in a tiny square room that was bare save from a hard bed that lacked a blanket, a grubby sink and a filthy toilet. Apparently the Arkham funds didn't stretch to hiring a cleaner. They'd spent all their income of that fancy staircase at the entrance, I figured. The pretentious asses.

I looked down at my clothes. No longer was I wearing the Nurse outfit, but a disgustingly orange jumpsuit which managed to make me miss my original outfit. It wasn't only the Guards and the inmates here that wanted you dead, it was also the clothes. Its hard material, scrapped violently against my skin threatening to abrade it until had completely disappeared.

I sat up from the rock solid bed, and walked towards the door. It had a small barred window, allowing the inmate to peak out. So I did. A huge metal plaque read ' _Block B- Medium Security'_ , next to an armed guard with a machine gun.

If this was medium, I dreaded to think what high would be like.

A Guard who was positioned outside my cell hit on the metal bars, and yelled at me to get back further inside the holding. For the first time in weeks, I didn't argue back. Electric jolts can zap you energy right out of you.

So I turned, and made my way back to my bed to sleep off my headache. But something slippy on the floor caused my canvas shoes to skid, making me lose balance and tumble to the ground.

I looked on the floor, and there lay a greetings card which front said ' _Welcome!'_ surrounded by flowers and butterflies.

Hesitantly, I picked it up, grimacing- I'd never really liked supposedly _'girlie'_ things.

I slowly opened it up, keeping it at arm's reach in case it was some sort of trick. No deadly acid, or toxic gas sprayed out. Instead, all that happened was a message was scrawled onto the insides with red ink.

It read:

 ** _'_ _Little Alice fell  
d  
o  
w  
n  
the hOle,  
bumped her head  
and bruised her soul'_**

I let go of the card immediately, realising it hadn't been ink at all. It had been blood.

Still, it didn't wipe the smile off of my face. After all, the Joker did have one cruel sense of humour.

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: Thought this long chapter would make up for the wait you had to face for the last one! This may be my favourite chapter I have written yet, so I hope you all have enjoyed. I'm so excited to now be writing Part Two cause I can include all these other Batman characters and villians- plus Suicide Squad is getting me so pumped to see them all played out on the big screen! Thank you all for your comments, it really helps motivate me. Honestly, when I started writing I had no idea people would like my work so much. Thanks a million!**


	12. Deal Breakers

**Chapter Eight- Deal Breakers**

 **Author's Note & Recap** **: I'm incredibly sorry that I haven't updated in ages, but I've been dealing with some personal issues and fell off the rails a bit. However, I'm back together again and determined to finish this story since I have all the chapters worked out! One of my followers is writing a great Joker/Oc fanfic, so shout out to** ' _Misery Loves Company'_ **by** dr3amqu33n **Seriously, check it out, it's amazing!**

 **Anyways here's a quick recap just to remind everyone what is going on, just in case you've forgotten-**

 **Alice tried to kill herself, ended up sharing a hospital room with the Joker who she has a strange admiration for. Alice is the child of the man who killed the Waynes, and was led to believe by Sionis it was their fault her father later died. However, the Joker helps her realise it was actually Sionis who got her father murdered, and furious Alice wants revenge.**

 **Meanwhile Cash, Joker's main Guard, has to go back to the Asylum to recapture the inmate Killer Croc who bit off his hand. The inmate was released by Frank Boles who wanted to be the hero and recapture him, which would help him gain a promotion. However, Boles' plan backfires when he is instructed to guard the Joker, due to Cash and Croc's previous history.**

 **Alice escapes her own handcuffs and helps Joker out of his binds. He then instructs her to murder a Nurse, since she owes him. Alice does so, thinking it was smart to be in his good books so she wouldn't get any nasty surprises later on in life. Unbeknownst to her, the Joker wants to keep her around as his new toy now Batman is in retirement. He wants to see her crack, then when he gets bored, he plans to kill her.**

 **The Joker goes off to murder the Head Doctor who is having lunch with Boles, the Joker saw through Boles' scheme and tells him if he captures himself and Alice, his accomplice, the promotion is his. Boles agrees and lets the Joker brutally murder the Doctor.**

 **Both Alice and the Joker go to the Asylum, however get split up. Alice stumbles across Jonathan Strange, aka Scarecrow, who has an interest in the Joker and is allowing her to be 'protected' for reasons unknown to her. In Alice's cell she comes across a 'Welcome' card written in blood, which she assumes is from the Joker.**

 **PHEW! That was way longer than I thought, anyways, enjoy the new chapter!**

* * *

I turned my spoon upside down and watched in disgust as the green slush fell like cement onto my tray.

"You going to eat it, or waste it?" Crane grumbled from across the table, his mouth full of his own food.

"You think it's supposed to be green, or it's just covered in layers of mould?" I asked staring revolted at the substances that contaminated my tray.

"Eat it and find out" Was his blunt suggestion.

I snorted at the very thought and looked up to him, towards his blank, expressionless face. Despite his appearance making him seem that he felt superior to all those around him- which, trust me, he did – whenever I saw the dull, glazed look in his eyes, I internally breathed a sigh of relief. It meant he was Jonathan Crane, and not the other entity which consumed him. An entity which I'd prefer never to encounter again. My bandaged hand throbbed at the memory.

It had been my first meal in Arkham, and I had spotted Crane sitting alone at a table. Wanting not only to avoid the obese monster of a woman, who had stood behind me in the food queue, repeatedly stroking my hair with her fat and greasy fingers calling 'honey muffin', but I also wanted to find out from Crane the way to freedom so I could avoid the previously mentioned monster-lady indefinitely.

I was in such a hurry to get away from her, that I hadn't realised that in a dining hall packed with tables full of deranged psychos, there was probably a reason he was the only person at an empty table. Fast-forward five minutes of my first supper and Scarecrow had not only tried but succeeded, in stabbing me with a plastic spoon. If I hadn't been the victim of the assault, I would've been impressed at the sheer amount of strength his skinny body possessed.

However despite the incident, I kept returning to sit with him. Which raises a whole new topic, out of the two of us, which one is crazier?

"Yeah somehow, I think I'll pass." I replied.

He shrugged stiffly, and took another spoonful of his mouth-watering tomato and basil soup, served with croutons and buttered baguette. Even though he was an ex-staff member, the Asylum thought it fit that he was to be continually allowed the staff meals. Probably because he still scared them all shitless, especially since he had the abilities to escape his shackles and walk around Arkham like a free man. An ability I wished to possess myself.

"So," I started. "When are we escaping? I've been here nearly a week now, and although I admit the mind-dullingly plain routine, the overwhelmingly stale stagnant aroma of body odour and faeces, and not to forget, the dear company of my disease infested inmate, has grown on me. Frankly, I'd like to leave. _Soon._ "

Crane frowned, genuinely perplexed, "Why would you ever want to leave?"

"Have you not been listening to a single word that I just said?" I asked now perplexed myself, wondering how my sarcasm could've flown straight over his head.

"This, this, place. Well, it's beautiful. Perfect in fact. We are all on one side, all this fear, this chaos. And _he_ is on the other." Crane's eyes hardened up at the very thought of the dreaded 'B-word'- Batman.

All it had taken me was a stab through the hand to work out that Batman was a trigger word for Crane, and a no-go zone for the Scarecrow. Yet, despite the painful memories the Batman brought Crane, he still proceeded to mention the Bats in the form of _'he'_ or ' _it'_ at least thrice every meal. Something about the costumed vigilante seemed to cause costumed villains to become obsessed. Well, you know what they say- crazy attracts crazy. Although, in these cases it was more fitting if the phrase was crazy _attacks_ crazy.

"Wait, you _don't_ want to leave? Like seriously?" My brain was baffled.

Six nights in this dump. I had managed six nights, and I was already climbing up the walls. In my cell block, inmates were only allowed one and a half hours out of their tiny enclosures per day. That meant for the remaining twenty two and a half hours I only had my brain as company. It hadn't taken long to get bored of hearing myself think. It didn't help that my brain was in a constant state of self loathing that I hadn't realised Sionis' lies and sawed him in half whilst I still had the opportunity.

"Have you not been listening to a single word that I just said?" He retorted.

I sighed, frustrated, "So why am I here? You wouldn't help protect me if I wasn't useful. Especially given I know that you don't like me."

"You thought you could help me escape?" He laughed sarcastically. "If I wanted to, I could walk straight out of the front doors. I don't need your assistance."

"So why don't you?"

He fell silent, but I knew what his answer was. It was the dreaded 'B-word' again.

Frankly, I was lucky that Crane had no idea that Batman had now vanished from the streets. If he knew, he wouldn't be here. And neither would I. As in, Crane/Scarecrow would be out, once again terrorising Gotham, whereas I would probably be dead, by the monster-lady no doubt, who every-so often would glare daggers at me from across the cafeteria, angry that I rebuked her advances. I was extremely lucky. I needed Crane to keep me alive, and he currently needed me something for God knows what.

"Listen," I tried again. "How about a trade off? I'll do whatever you need me to, and in return you can show me the way out of here."

Crane took another sip of his soup, evading my proposed deal with a question of his own, "When did you last wash?"

My hands clenched into tight fists, "Don't you change the subject. It was a simple yes or no answer."

"I'm being serious. You're really starting to look like one of the regulars. And you smell like them too." His nose wrinkled in revulsion.

It was true. My personal hygiene had gone out the window. My blonde hair now fell limp with grease, and areas of dirt had been stained into my pale skin which had turned a shade of yellow from acute jaundice since I hadn't seen the sun since my arrival. But looking and smelling like a tramp was far more agreeable to me than stepping foot in Arkham's shared ladies shower room.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was trying to impress anyone. Excuse me while I return to my chambers and whip out the newest collection of Versage." I spoke bitterly, trying to mask my offense that my presence disgusted him.

"It's Versace." He corrected.

"You know what I mean." I growled, shifting my anger at myself for even caring enough to get offended, onto him. "There's no way in Hell that I'll ever go into a shower with those loonies. Unless I want to die."

My head tilted as a motioned to the table opposite ours which held the monster lady and her entourage of psychedelic followers. Crane didn't even turn in his seat to witness the glares the ring leader was sending me.

"Well, you do have a history of being suicidal. So that could be any time, right? And you aren't exactly in the best frames of mind either, you do realise that you are also an inmate?"

"At least I'm not speaking to my spoon." I retorted back, trying hard not the stare at the lady who seemed to be having a conflict with her plastic cutlery. Her debate ended when she snapped the spoon in two and ate one of the ends.

"And who's to say you won't be soon? Just wait till you start your medication." He smiled, tauntingly.

All of Gotham had thought that Jonathan Crane had been evil to his inmates when he was the Head of the Asylum, but compared to Sharp, Crane was a petal. According to Crane, Sharp was getting extra income by allowing medicinal companies to test their new drugs on inmates, which, more often than not, had devastating consequences. But I was in disbelief. Crane hadn't exactly told me this when he was Crane. Crane had told me this when he was Scarecrow. So I laughed it off, hoping that the words he said were just another attempt to scare me witless.

"All the more reason to escape whilst I still have part of my mind intact!" I argued, using his words against him.

Crane just shook him head.

"Listen," I began again. "If you want to stay here all snug, protected from the B-man himself, then that's fine with me. But at least tell me how to get out."

"Now, why would I do that?"

"Because I'm going to help you with whatever you need me for. It's part of the deal."

"The deal is, you will help me with something and in return you get the chance to stay alive." He stated.

 _Chance?_ That did _not_ sound good.

"Oh yeah, then what happens when I've finished with this 'something'?"

"You're a vaguely intelligent girl, I'm sure you can work it out."

Ergo, after I had fulfilled my uses, I was dog meat. My soul felt deflated. I was going to die here.

"Don't look so shocked. We're in Arkham, remember. Human decency gets left at the gates" He reasoned mockingly. "Besides I'm sure that even if I told you the way out of here, you wouldn't manage. The last inmate who had the most chances of being free, and staying free, got caught."

My soul rose again with hope, "Someone nearly escaped?"

"I'd hardly call them a person." His eyes rolled, bored.

I ignored him, already agitated at him for yet again not trying to help my petition to stay breathing. "Well. Where are they? You're deal sucks. I'm in need of a new partner."

He chuckled lowly, "Yeah, good luck with that. He'd eat you for breakfast."

I froze hesitantly, "What, he a paedophile or something?"

Crane scoffed, "If 'something' includes the category of life-sized lizards with the appetite for human flesh. Then yes, he surely is something."

"Bull-shit!"

Crane shrugged nonchalantly, and explained his words further, "His alias is Killer Croc, real name's Waylon Jones, but he lost the right of a real name when he started to devour the bones of his enemies. Of course, his alias _is_ far more fitting. He _was_ born with scales for skin."

"Killer Croc? You couldn't come up with anything more imaginative?" I snorted in disbelief. "So if there really is this 'lizard person' in Arkham, how come none of Gotham knows about him?"

"The people of Gotham had the Mob to worry about, then they also had me, closely followed by the Joker. You really think they could've coped sleeping at night if they knew that in the depths of Arkham, lay a monster who would be more than willing to eat them for dinner and their children for dessert?"

I laughed sarcastically, "You are so full of shit. Listen, for whatever the reason, you want me around. You obviously aren't wanting to leave since you're scared shitless of the Batman. Kinda ironic, don't you think- the Scarecrow has a fear?"

His icy eyes, froze over. I stiffened in my seat, at my slip. I knew who was coming out next.

"We are beginning to wonder why he ever kept you around." His spoke, his voice contorted.

I gulped, wishing I had kept my big mouth shut. _I never learn._

But before another situation arose between the Scarecrow and I, a hard calloused hand clenched my shoulder roughly, painfully pulled me out of my seat, and pushed me towards the door, directing me to walk slowly and not try anything idiotic. I knew before he spoke that it was Boles.

Although it was completely unintentional on his behalf, I never would have thought in a million years the person to save me from Scarecrow's wrath would be Frank.

"Apparently the big man himself wants to see you, ain't you the lucky one?" He chuckled darkly.

It was out of the frying pan and into the fire.

* * *

Quincy Sharp's office was decadent to say the least, the room was six times the size of my cell and rather than smell like dampness and rot, like the rest of the Asylum, it smelt of polish which emanated from his fancy desk and the extravagant bookcase full of leather bound original copies. It seemed more like a library than an office. Instead of metal filing cabinets, Quincy used mahogany chest of drawers. There was no computer on his desk, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he signed his papers with a quill instead of a pen.

"Well, it's clear where Arkham's budget went." I said aloud, looking around the room.

Boles rose his arm to backhand me, but Sharp's words stopped him.

"That'll be all Frank, I'll take it from here. I trust you are enjoying your position as the newest member of the Head Guard Squadron."

"Very much, sir."

"Well back to work then. We wouldn't want any mishaps to occur from your dillydallying."

 _Ouch._

Boles nodded curtly trying not to show insult, looked down to check my handcuffs were tight enough, and left in a haste to please his Boss.

Quincy Sharp was a fat man, whose figure over spilled in his plush leather chair. He suffered from the misfortune of both being fat and bald, which resulted in him looking like a shaved pug, an appearance which was greatly aided by the frown lines that were permanently etched onto his face.

"Alice it says here the only medication you are on is morphine." He said reading from my file, which consisted of one side of an A4 piece of paper, that wasn't yet even half full.

"They put me back on morphine after my original incident with Crane." I explained, trying not to shudder as I remembered the feeling of his finger nails tearing apart my stitches.

"That was nearly a week ago, however."

"There was another incident," I tried raising my bandaged hand above the table top to show him the evidence, but the handcuffs made it impossible. "Hurts like a bitch when I'm not on it."

"Still, we can't have you on morphine for much longer. It might," he paused. "Interfere, with your other treatments."

I felt a bead on sweat drip down the back of my neck as I thought of a life with no morphine. I had no idea how I had managed life without it, morphine made me feel weightless and free.

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm fine. Morphine truly helps. So long as I'm on it I won't cause anyone issues. I'll stay out of everybody's way. You won't even know I'm here!" I spoke rapidly, my voice going up a pitch from my desperate plea.

Sharp's dead eyes looked at me from behind his own pair of thick rimmed glasses- it seemed him and Crane shared an optician.

"Alice, with all due respect, you are an inmate. It is our job, within the Asylum, to try and regain some sanity within your head, to have you functioning as close to a normal civilian as possible. Now wouldn't you like to be seen as a common member of society, instead of looked down upon and feared?"

"I'd like my morphine." I answered truthfully.

" _Tsk, tsk._ You disappoint me Alice." He continued to inspect my file, "It says here on your hospital record, you have no first point of contact."

I didn't reply.

"No close friends, family, acquaintances? The Joker, of course doesn't count." He prodded, as I remained quiet. Something about him was causing me to be on edge, but I had reasoned that it was because he was the only person who stood between me and a lifetime supply of free morphine.

"Not that he hasn't asked about you," Quincy continued. "You know in nearly all his sessions he brings you up? You must've made quite the impression, pity that it has to be so fleeting."

"' _Has to_ '?" I repeated, alarm bells were ringing in my mind.

"Alice, you tried to kill yourself. Twice, apparently. You have no family left, no friends to fight your corner, you didn't even have a job. Just another worthless lowlife from The Narrows without enough money to her name to buy a Happy Meal. You may be completely expendable, but the research we gather from you will be indispensable. "

"I don't know anything about the Joker, if that's what you're asking." I stated.

Quincy laughed, a full belly laugh.

"Oh no, Alice, not at all." He closed my file, and leaned forward, holding his hands together on top of the desk. "You see, I'm giving you an option, the same one I give all the worthless and unmemorable inmates who enter my office. You can either be put on an experimental drug trial, or I can hand you over to the very capable hands of Professor Hugo Strange."

So Crane hadn't been lying. Well shit.

"Dr Strange?"

"Professor." Quincy corrected, "A great friend of mine, who shares a very common interest- Power. Strange is working on a technique to control the human mind, however so far his experimentations have been less than successful. Luckily, nobody blinks twice when an inmate dies in Arkham. However, families proposing inquiries or attempting to sue can be such a pain, which is why we quickly learnt to use the unwanted patients.

"See, Alice. What I am doing is allowing you to do something useful, for once in your life. I'm allowing you to be a part of something so much bigger, that your pathetic life may restore some of its meaning, after all."

I butted into his monologue, "So what you're essentially saying is that me choosing to sacrifice either my life or brain, is actually _you_ doing _me_ a favour?"

"Precisely!" He clapped his hands together enthusiastically, happy that I could see it all from his perspective. "So Alice, what do you say?"

"I say that the staff here are crazier than their patients!" I barked. "Yeah, I think I'll take my chances with the drug trial, thank you very much."

Quincy Sharp's face hardened into stone, "Yet again you disappoint me Alice."

"I'd like to return to my cell now, if you please." I glared back at him, furious that I was to become some sort of lab rat.

"That is not possible." He stated.

"What? What the hell do you mean?" I asked, getting flustered. Panic gripping my nerves.

Quincy sat back and slouched within his seat, "I lied when I said you had a choice. Professor Strange is on his way here to start his program."

" _What?!_ " I tried to jump up but the handcuffs were bound to the chair, so instead I spat straight into his face. He wiped the spit off with his pocket handkerchief, unsurprised at my reaction, another inmate must've done the same thing in the past.

"Now, now Alice. You may not have much to offer the world, but at least hold onto your dignity for whatever remaining time you have left." He patronised me.

" _You evil fuck! I'll kill you!_ " My wrist bruised against the metal as I attempted to break the shackles, but I didn't care. In that moment, I only had one thing on my mind. Cold blooded murder.

The door behind opened up and in walked in another bald man who was so tall and thin, he resembled a grasshopper. It was Professor Strange.

"Greetings Strange! Perfect timing, I was just explaining to dear Alice what is away to happen to her. She seems to be taking it better than our last unfortunate." Quincy smiled.

"Y _ou ignoramus bastard! I'll fucking kill you!_ " I yelled in fury, trying to muster up some more spit but my mouth had gone dry from fear.

"We can't experiment on her." Was all I heard Strange say.

"Well, why on Earth not?"

Strange walked his lanky body over to the fat slob that was Sharp and whispered something into his ear, I watched as Quincy froze rigid and looked at me in horror.

"No, of course we can't. I'll find a replacement for tomorrow. Apologies for this inconvenience. Can you find a guard to take her back to her cell?" Sharp said in reply.

Strange nodded, and left.

Quincy gulped and looked at me but not meeting my eyes, "Looks like somebody as a Guardian Angel. I'll find you a psychiatrist to begin your treatment program tomorrow."

"No drug tests?" I asked warily, confused by this sudden shift of events.

"No drug tests." He clarified with a nod. "Alice, let's keep this incident on the down-low. Wouldn't want to worry any of the other inmates."

If I was to be silent about this, he could damn well pay for it.

"So my morphine?" I prodded.

"Will remain as is."

"No," I declared. "My morphine will be doubled."

"If you so wish."

The stupid bastard hadn't even realised I hadn't agreed to shutting my trap.

* * *

After I had been taken back to my cell I flopped down on my rock solid bed in triumph. But I felt something squish underneath me. I sprung up, and looked down. It was a piece of cake. Or at least had been until my body demonised it. Scrawled on its paper plate were the words 'You're welcome' and a picture of a smiley face.

My laugh was so loud it, in no doubt, could've been heard from the other side of the Asylum where they thought they had him securely locked up. And I'm sure he was laughing along too.


	13. Identity Crisis

**Chapter Nine- Identity Crisis (3rd Person)**

"How long had he been like that for?" Doctor Munroe asked, after coming into the staff room and watching the Joker on the projection board with the other staff members, in complete silence, for at least five minutes.

All maximum threats in Arkham had security cameras rigged into their rooms, but the staff had found the Joker the most interesting inmate to observe. So they had gotten the technician to live stream his footage onto the projector to allow them to all constantly monitor and analyse his volatile behaviour.

To all the staff, the Joker had become as big a part of their lives as a new born child. All of them were trying to come up with rational theories for his actions, all of them desperate to publish a scientific paper on his being and become internationally renowned. However, so far none of their personality or behaviour concepts had proved to be true. The Joker was a walking contradiction, conflicting with everything they thought to be true in their science.

"At least seven hours," another Doctor answered. "Originally, we thought the system had glitched and was playing a sequence in a loop. But he's been like that all day."

"Perhaps it is a reaction to his medication. What drugs is he on at the moment?"

Doctor Michaelson, the latest psychiatrist to work with him and prescribe him medication, spoke up, "Carbamazepine and SSRI's for his possible Antisocial Personality Disorder, Clozapine and Olanzapine for his possible Bipolar disorder which also target Psychosis, and finally an added dose of risperidone to help his lower irritability."

The other Doctors nodded, agreeing to this prescribed cocktail. But Michaelson could've given him any drug and they would have given the same reaction, nobody knew what his brain was suffering from so therefore nobody contradicted anybody's diagnosis, having no evidence that their opinion was correct.

"Doesn't seem to be working." Monroe stated, frowning at the behaviour on the screen.

"They would work," Michaelson declared arrogantly. "The only issue is, he refuses to take them. We've had to grind up the pills and add them into his meals in order for him to consume them. And even then he doesn't get the full effects. The man hardly eats."

"Why would he not take the pills?" another Doctor questioned, not sure why anybody in his state of mind wouldn't want help and assistance.

"He claims he doesn't need them, he says that he is 'free'. It's the most worrying thing about him; he doesn't think he is insane." Michaelson explained.

"Funny. I would have said the most concerning thing about him was his desire to destroy the whole of Gotham to anarchy," Monroe spoke sarcastically, taking every opportunity possible to highlight to all the staff members her dislike for Michaelson.

She knew Michaelson from Medical School where he had gained the reputation for undercutting his fellow classmates, using them in order to progress himself further. But at the time she hadn't believed it. This shifted when she had trusted Michaelson with her Dissertation to hand into their Tutor. A Dissertation he had then put his own name to, and hers to his, causing him to graduate with flying colours, and her to have to retake their final year. It was safe to say, Monroe did not, nor would ever, trust Michaelson again.

"Why haven't you sedated him and forced the drugs into his system, like we do with the rest of the high security threats?" she questioned.

"Professor Lange, who was originally prescribed as his psychiatrists, did exactly that in his first session. We all know what happened to her the next time they crossed paths."

All the Doctors, including Monroe, shuddered at the memory.

Professor Lange was now in a psychiatric ward herself recovering from trauma. In their second session, the Joker had managed to wrestle out of his handcuffs, by breaking his thumbs, and ripped her tongue out of her throat.

They all fell silent again and continued staring at the screen.

The Joker had used the brown sauce from his meals to decorate the walls with two different words, 'Batman' and 'Alice', but the brown sauce hadn't been enough for his whole cells. So the Joker had used his own blood. They knew it had been his own blood because of the huge bite mark on his upper arm that went about a centimeter deep into the flesh, a wound which had only recently stopped bleeding. They had believed they had seen every behaviour possible in the Asylum, but this was something entirely new. The past seven hours he had been pacing up and down his cell, admiring his own handiwork.

Munroe noticed something more.

"Who is he speaking to?" she asked.

All the Doctors inched towards the screen, noticing that he was in fact in a deep monologue. His mouth silently and quickly made different shapes, every so often pausing to catch breath, or having a break so his tongue could lick his dry scars.

"He'll be speaking to Alice. He does that sometimes in our sessions, pretends she is in the room, laughing along with him." Michaelson figured.

"He's obsessed?"

"Entirely."

"I didn't realise he had the social capacity to form attachments." Another Doctor pipped in.

"I know nothing of their relationship," Michaelson admitted. "I don't know in what sense he regards her, but I doubt it's anything significant. In my professional opinion, his mind is unstimulated in this environment with little chance to harm others, and therefore he is becoming more prone to being fixated on certain objects, and even people."

"Still, I would be interested to see how the two interact with each other." Munroe spoke aloud, wondering how someone as complex as the Joker could be so infatuated with someone, who even though was clinically insane, wasn't all that remarkable.

Michaelson yet again stole her idea.

And that's how Alice and the Joker were once again reunited.

* * *

The Guards dragged Alice, who was kicking and screaming, into one of the many Cognitive Behavioural Therapy rooms in the Asylum. The room was pretty bare, save from the two armchairs and the table which lay in the middle of the room, the cameras which lay in each of the four corners, and finally, the two way mirror. They threw her to the floor and left, speedily locking the door behind them.

Alice, now alone in the room immediately, ran up to the two way mirror, oblivious to the huge number of Doctors and Professors who stood on the opposite side just a few feet away, and began hammering her tiny body against it. When the two Guards had bursted into her cell to drag her away, she had jumped to the conclusion that Quincy Sharp had changed his mind. She wasn't going to go down without a fight. A shard of glass would have done nicely for a weapon. _Would have._

"Stupid bitch doesn't even know it's plastic!" Frank Boles laughed aloud on the other side. His shift had finished hours ago, but he had chosen to stay on to watch the scene play out before him, crossing his fingers that something bad was going to become of it. An event highly probable when the Joker is added into a mix.

Quickly giving up on breaking the mirror with her own body, Alice rushed over to the table. She planned on hurtling the table at the mirror, and if that still didn't break it then she would break off one of its legs and use it as some sort of baton. But that plan failed too, the little furnishings in the room had all been screwed down onto the floor, making them impossible to move.

So instead Alice stood right next to the door with the plan to ambush the next person who walked in with her bare hands.

But that plan also failed.

She was ready to spring into action hearing a key jingle but when the door opened she was left in utter shock. It wasn't a Guard, it was the Joker. He wasn't strapped to a hospital bed this time, he was strapped into a wheelchair.

One Guard wheeled his over to the table to face the two chairs, whilst the other guarded the passageway of the door, making certain Alice wasn't going to make a break for it. She did no such thing. Instead, she followed the first Guard in silence and sat down opposite the clown who she wasn't sure if she hated or loved.

The first Guard nearly sprinted out of the room, wanting to get away from the crazies as fast as possible, worried that insanity might be contagious.

Alice stared at the Joker, as he stared right back at her with an increased intensity that almost made her shift in her seat.

He was taking her all in. She had changed since he last saw her, almost a week ago. Firstly, she was dramatically thinner, her body having digressed from a woman's into a child's, all due to her refusal to eat the Asylum's food. Her skin had turned also turned a sickly yellow, and her pale blonde hair looked almost brown with greasy and dirt. But the Joker didn't care about any of this. What got his attention was the change within her eyes.

He searched for the pitiful sadness and pathetic fear in her eyes which he had caught glimpses of during their hospital stay, but he saw neither. Instead he had found a protective hardness, almost a sort of deadness that hid the fury which silently lurked behind hid her pretty blue eyes.

The Joker liked her more this way, perfection was overrated. He preferred his possessions damaged. And she was damaged all right, more so now than ever.

His black eyes narrowed in on her bandaged hand, and he became to chuckle at the thought of her in pain. But he froze in mid chortle. Somebody had hurt Alice. Somebody who wasn't him had injured _his_ property.

"Who gotcha, Alice?" he asked in a low voice, seething. He leaned forward in his seat, oblivious to the painful pressure of the binds which dug into his skin when he did so.

"Oh, this thing?" Alice held up her hand. "I just fell."

She lied, consciously unaware that she didn't want the Joker to regard her as weak for have being unable to defend herself. But the psychiatrists in the other room had picked up immediately, all of them jotting it down in their notes.

"Aliceeeee," the Joker slithered, tilting his head to one side slowly, genuinely disappointed with her. "Ya know I can't stand liars."

Her pulse quickened and colour returned to her cheeks from shame and embarrassment of being found out.

"Just another inmate. But it's fine."

"Doesn't look fine, Aliceee."

"I'm fine." She snapped, immediately regretting it.

But the Joker didn't retaliate from her disrespect, at least he didn't retaliate straight away.

Alice saw that she hadn't been the only one to change because of Arkham, he had too. There was something off about him. He was always crazy, but now he was particularly unhinged. It made her anxious, not only for herself but for him. Alice knew he was growing madder being kept locked up. He had needed her for his first escape, but she felt he now needed her more than ever. Her concern for him, made her more concerned for herself. If she was worrying about the Joker, than she felt that perhaps she was past the point of no-return in sanity-terms. She felt that maybe she deserved to be in Arkham.

There was a reason why the Joker had vandalised his own cell- he was protesting against leaving Gotham, something that only Michaelson, Sharp and the Joker were aware of.

Every since the Joker had been captured, Sharp had been in constant talks with Metropolis trying to sell him off for profit, and Michaelson had joined in the negotiations. Michaelson was more hungry than the rest of his colleagues to be the one who succeeded in writing the paper on the Joker's character, but to succeed he had to decrease the competition. He knew of Quincy's plan to transfer the Joker for profit, so blackmailed him, making part of the deal that the Joker was to have one, and only one, psychiatrist. Him.

Michaelson already had planned what he was going to tell his colleagues in a weeks' time when they were departing, how due to LexCorp running the complex, it had superior technology and alternative practices which may benefit the Joker. And how, it wasn't exactly healthy keeping him in the city which he had attempted to destroy. The plan would have played out perfectly, if the Joker wasn't so opposed to the transfer.

Metropolis had nothing for him. There wasn't any crime being the safest city in the World, the citizens did not fear him since they had not been affected by his violence that reigned through Gotham, and there was no, and had never been, a Batman who had unintentionally made the Joker who he was. In psychologist's terms, the Joker was currently suffering from what was classed as an 'identity crisis'. And this wasn't helped by the factor that they hadn't allowed him to keep on his clown paint.

"Why are we here?" she wondered aloud, unintentionally breaking the Joker from his violent thoughts which were being directed towards Michaelson.

Alice shifted around in her seat to inspect all the cameras which were pointed directly towards them and frowned curiously.

"It doesn't seem that I will be here much longer." The Joker stated, glaring knowingly at the mirror. Behind it Doctor Michaelson gulped. "This might be the last time we _-uh_ ever meet."

"What are you saying?" Alice suddenly grew worried that he was planning on getting out without coming for her.

The Joker's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he licked the corner of his scars. "Me-tro-po-lis." He slithered out, sounding out every syllable individually.

Alice's jaw dropped, "What they can't move you! I need you here."

She was speaking literally of course, only concerned about escapism, Strange's experiments, and Quincy's drugs.

Behind the screen all of the Doctors and Professors turned to Michaelson questioningly whilst he remained silent, dreading the wrath which would be bestowed upon him once the two inmates had returned to their cell. None of them spoke, however, wanting to listen to the words the two inmates were exchanging.

"Gee, I didn't realise you liked me that much." The Joker grinned mockingly, his eyes dancing around tauntingly.

"But, but, how will we escape?" Alice panicked, the Joker clenched his fists together in anger, seeing the fear which was creeping back into her eyes.

He saw that she still requiring some work. She was still too human, too weak. She was in need of a few extra pushes.

"Shhhh, not so loud." The Joker hissed at her stupidity for being unaware that they were currently being monitored, "They're watching us."

His words had caused Alice's eyes widened further. She leaned forward across the table, their faces only a few centimeters away from each other. The Doctors immediately forgot what she had said, taking interest of their body language to try determine their relationship.

"You have a plan, right?" she whispered quietly and quickly. "I mean you managed to get into my cell, so surely you can think of something."

"Huh?" the Joker face was blank.

"Well not _you_ but one of your goons." She searched his eyes for recollection, there wasn't any, so she tried to prompt him further. "The cards, the cake?"

The Joker's eyes darted around the room slowly, already bored of not understanding what she was speaking about.

Alice's eyebrows furrowed, "Oh c'mon," she laughed nervously. "That was you! It _had_ to be you."

"Alice," he finally said, in a serious tone. "Have you been taking your meds?"

He only managed to hold his concerned face for a few seconds before cracking up.

"So it _wasn't_ you?" Alice asked confusedly leaning away again, unsure if he was just pulling her leg. It wouldn't have been the first time the Joker had lied to her.

The Joker's facially expression morphed into a sarcastic ' _really?'._

"You're wasting time with useless questions, Alice. Who knows how much longer I'll be here. Why dontcha _listen_ for a change?"

Alice stayed quiet, she knew he was trying to tell her something, something very important. She'd try solve the mystery of the anonymous card in her cell when she had the spare time to think.

"Ya know Alice, a favourite animal can tell you a lot about a person," He started randomly, but his speech wasn't unplanned, he had been thinking of it for days. "People who like dogs admire loyalty. People who like lions worship strength. People who like-"

"Yeah. I get it." She cut in, annoyed that he had said _she_ was the one wasting time and then gone on to speak about this.

His eyes darkened and he clicked his tongue, "Ya know, it's rude to interrupt a story." He brushed it off, getting back in his story telling zone, "Me? I like cuckoos. Wanna know why?"

"Sure." Alice said nonchalantly, not interested at all but willing to humour him.

The Joker glared at her insolence again, suddenly falling silent and looked irritably down at his binds, he clucked his tongue once again, and then asked- "Say- _uh_ Alice, how bout you loosen these straps?"

Alice hesitated.

"C'mon Alice, don't you trust me?" he asked jeeringly, "And after all I've done for you. Got to say, I'm offended."

She watched the grin spread further on his face, but despite the huge smile, his eyes were lit up with darkness. But she ignored this, something about his lack of face paint made him seem so human though and that, combined with Alice's twisted sense of loyalty, compelled her to walk over to his wheelchair and undo the binds.

As she untied his ankles, unbeknownst to her, the Joker had sent out a mocking wink to the two-way mirror which had caused all the Professionals to gasp, and Boles to snigger.

"Should we interfere?" one of the junior psychiatrists queried from behind the screen.

"We'll see how this plays out." Michaelson sweated nervously, fearing he was losing complete control of the situation.

Inside the room the Joker, now freed from his wrist straps, stood up. His hunched back still towering above Alice. With one swift motion he threw Alice into the wheelchair and spun her in a full circle whilst laughing.

"Where was I?" he questioned, seemingly unaware that his swift actions had caused Alice to become lightheaded due to her empty stomach.

"The cuckoos." She prompted dizzily.

"Ah yes, the _cuckoos._ " He began pacing in front of her, as she stayed seated trying to regain her balance. His tongue began dancing across his mouth with feral excitement. "Now, it isn't all cuckoos I like. Only a certain type. The smart ones.

"The ones that know how difficult and unrewarding raising a child is. How no matter how much time and effort you put into-uh their development…. they never turn out quite right. They always end up a disappointment." The words turned acid in his mouth. "So what do these cuckoos do? They lay their eggs in another birds nest. They pass on the task!"

The Joker started to chortle, "But wanna know the really, _really_ funny part? The cuckoo's chic is even smarter. Once its hatched, it pushes all the other eggs and birds out of the nest. That way, it can get all the attention, all the food. And poor mama bird, she ends up fatting up the only child who isn't even hers!"

"Hilarious." Alice said without even cracking a smile, she wasn't much a fan of birds.

The Joker stopped pacing and grabbed Alice's face roughly, pulling her out of the seat and onto her tiptoes to face him.

"Point is, Alice," he rolled his eyes backwards in his head, before staring at her again. "Your favourite animal is a shark, mine is a cuckoo- what does _that_ say about us?"

Alice frowned, more baffled by the fact he had worked out her favourite animal than that she was currently being manhandled by a homicidal clown, "How'd you know that?"

He knocked his knuckles against her head, "I pay uh-ttention. You should too. Remember that shark story you told me?"

She recalled it and his words after she had told it- _"If you wanted to say you'd help me escape you could've just come out and said it. I didn't need a whole metaphoric allegory about sharks."_

Her lips formed an 'o' in realisation. This was his warped way of asking for help.

"Good girl." He stoked her face gently with the back of his dry hand, taking her reaction as a yes. "Now before the lights go out, I want you to listen to me, _carefully."_

 _"Pardon?_ " was all Alice managed to say before the Joker pinned her to the table and began suffocating her.

The Doctors and Guards were in such a frenzied panic to get her out of there that the only person on the other side of the screen who noticed that the Joker was lowly whispering words into her ear as he performed the act was Boles. But Boles mentioned nothing.

* * *

Black Mask hovered over the tied and gagged body of Bill Parsons, stroking his hostage's face with head of his gun, wondering whether or not to finish the job quickly without getting messy or to take his bitter sweet time with the killing.

His cell phone vibrating within his suit pocket broke his concentration.

"Sorry to be unprofessional, but you don't mind if I take this?" He said mockingly, smiling under his mask as Parsons' quivering body shook his head frantically in response.

"How's the Kid?" Sionis asked immediately upon answering, not bothering to exchange customary greetings.

"Alive." Was the solitary answer from the muffled voice at the other end of the receiver.

"Yeah. Well let's keep it that way."

"The inmate who tipped us off," the other side continued. "He wants a gift."

"Course he does. Nobody works for free. What does the freak want?" Sionis questioned, slapping Bill across the face with the butt of his gun when he noticed Parsons' pathetic attempt to manoeuvre himself and his seat towards the window to signal for help.

"A white rabbit."

Sionis grunted, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"They don't call him the Mad Hatter for nothing." The voice continued, "Word down the grapevine is he's taken a liking to your Alice. If we aren't careful, she might become one of his next 'tea party' guests."

"We'll have her out of there long before he has the chance."

"I can have her out today if you want."

"No. We wait." Sionis ordered. "Have you visited the Morgues yet?"

The voice on the other side hesitated, "Listen Boss, I don't know what to tell you but there's no sign of him. We got a team of divers out in the river checking to see if someone dumped his body there. Seriously though, nobody could've survived that wreckage. You're fine."

"No body found, yet you still try to convince me Maroni is dead." Sionis' paranoia seeped out, but it did him well; he hadn't got this far in the game by being careless.

"We'll find it."

"Triple the number of divers. Until we find his body, Alice remains in Arkham." Sionis commanded.

Black Mask had enough to handle, maintaining order in the criminal underworld and finding Maroni. Both tasks were proving to be difficult. The order he had restored in the mob was hanging on a thin thread which threatened to snap at a moment's notice.

In two years, Gotham's scum had bowed to three different crime lords- Falcone, Maroni, and now Sionis. The constant change in management meant that loyalty was nearly non-existent. The Narrows threatened to erupt into anarchy against the establishment nearly daily, and the last thing Sionis needed was another murderer to keep a constant eye on. Therefore, for the time being, Alice had to remain in situ.

"Got it. Anything else?" His most trusted and loyal henchman asked.

"Send a disposal team over to Wayne Enterprises. I'm currently in a meeting with one of their Chair members."

Sionis hung up.

"Now, where were we?" Black Mask asked the terrified hostage. "Oh yeah, I was considering how to kill you."

Underneath his gag, Bill screamed.

Black Mask pointed his gun and drew the trigger. Bill fell silent, beginning his sentence of eternal silence.

The news about Maroni had ruined Sionis' torturous mood, but he still managed to feel faint wisps of satisfaction as he watched the ruby red blood pour out from Parsons' eye socket and trail its way down, seeping onto the floor. If he could frame the scene, then he would.

Roman Sionis did not care for many things, but he did appreciate art. And to him, watching another person's life slip away by your own hand was one of the finest pieces imaginable. His favourite had been when he murdered his own parents, he had found it to be pleasingly symmetrical. They had brought him into the World, but it had been he who had taken them out of it. But Sionis thought he would soon have a new favourite. Bruce Waynes.

How wrong he was going to be.

* * *

 **Authors Note: Thank you all so much for your support and kind words, it means so much to me! So after waiting impatiently for a year for its release, I saw 'Suicide Squad' the other day, and although I do agree with nearly everything the critics are saying about it, I actually really liked it! I think my love for DC may have biased my opinion… It has nothing on 'Batman: Assault on Arkham' an animated film that features the squad, but I will still probably buy the DVD to see all of the Joker's cut scenes. If the Joker or Harley Quinn don't get a solo film, I'll be so upset!**


	14. Desperate Times, More Desperate Measures

**Chapter Ten - Desperate Times, Even More Desperate Measures**

Blackmail Boles. That's all it was going to take. A little bit of threatening and then me and the Joker were on the express train out of here. And I was going to do it with pleasure. I mean, come on, the smug bastard had had it coming for him since the day we met. It was all so easy, too easy in fact. I didn't know why I hadn't gotten into extortion sooner, it was hilariously fun!

My merry humming was cut short by Crane's observation.

"I haven't seen your so called 'monster-lady' in two days now." He noted without looking up from his gourmet meal.

"So?" I asked disinterested. Deep down I was slightly surprised that he actually paid attention to my rants about Arkham and our fellow inmates. In all honesty half the time I didn't even pay my words any attention, I just enjoyed venting out my anger.

"In Arkham, minutes are weeks. It means she's probably dead."

Well Quincy _had_ been looking for a replacement for Strange, I guess he hadn't gone too far to find one _._

My thoughts of Quincy brought my mind back to the freakish mystery of the card and the cake. If it was true that it hadn't been the Joker, then somebody else had saved my skin.

I looked suspiciously towards Crane. But instincts told me it hadn't been him. He hated me, so why would he give me a slice of cake? It didn't make sense. Unless, he had given it to me to brag about how delicious the staff food was. But nope, I still didn't buy it.

 _Who even cares? I'll be out of here by tomorrow._ I forced my brain to forget about the whole enigma. I currently had more important things to focus on.

"Why would I care?" I queried, grimacing as I fished a long strand of grey hair out of my lumpy porridge, holding it up for inspection before dropping it to the floor. As if the taste itself wasn't enough to gag at. It was hard to believe that the people who prepared the staffs and Crane's food with such care and affection, were also the ones who were in charge of my meals. In my opinion, they contaminated it on purpose, it was the only reasonable explanation.

Crane looked at me now with suspicion, "I thought since you were too scared to step into the shower room because of her, you'd be pleased."

"'Scared' is a pretty strong adjective. More like 'cautious'." I said, pretending not to smell my own bullshit. "Nope, it makes no difference to me."

 _Well, not anymore, it doesn't._

To try act more natural to Crane's probing eyes, I ate a heaped spoonful of sludge. But it was a huge error. I spent the next minute with tears streaming from my eyes as I attempted to not choke on the gruel as it traveled down my oesophagus at a snail's pace. I even felt it stick to my stomach lining like wet cement.

"What happened to your neck?" he questioned after I had finally managed to compose myself again.

I nearly spat out some of the remaining porridge left in my mouth.

"Wait. Did you seriously just notice it now?" I scoffed in disbelief.

Thanks to the Joker, the whole of my neck had turned bright blue. And that wasn't an exaggeration. The whole thing was actually bright blue! But the colour, and the discomfort created when it was touched, was just a small price to pay for an eternity of freedom.

"No, I saw it straight away. I just didn't care," he admitted, painfully honest. "But now you are acting strange, I want to know."

"Strange, in what ways?" I scoffed again, pretending to take offense to possibly the mildest insults he had thrown at me during the last week.

His eyes narrowed, "You are happy."

"Can't a girl be happy for a change?" I said, jumping to my own defense.

"You haven't once complained about the food." He added.

"Well, not aloud."

"But most of all," he said, saving the best observation for last. "You haven't mentioned escaping. Not even once. And I would place bets that your behaviour has something to do with that strangulation mark around your neck."

 _Damn, busted._

"Yeah, you're right." I admitted in defeat, sensing that more I denied it, the further he was going to dig. With Crane sometimes it was better to confess. It didn't mean that I was going to tell him the whole truth though. Not in a million years. I was in the process of racking my brains for a plausible reason why I would be happy for having a swollen neck, when Jonathan handed it to me on a silver platter.

"They've increased your morphine." He nodded smugly pleased with his own deduction skills. His facial expression and tone didn't bother to hide the fact that he thought I was a complete junkie.

It was so very tempting at that moment to admit to the truth, just to watch the arrogance drain from his face, when I realised that they _had_ indeed increased my morphine supply. And all because I had asked them too.

You see though, I was nothing like the addicts you see cluttering the streets of The Narrows. Not in the slightest. I could stop any time I wanted to, I just chose not to. In fact, I would get clean as soon as I was out of the Asylum. Then my mind would be completely straight when I was focusing all my energy on revenge and Sionis.

No more drugs as soon as I was out. I made a pact with myself.

Well actually, maybe some. I thought, immediately getting doubts. Just a tiny bit of morphine, on occasions. For the special events, to make everything brighter. Just a little dosage to help me relax. Perhaps, maybe even just a small dosage to help unwind at night. But apart from that, I didn't need it at all. None whatsoever. I could stop in a moment's notice.

"Maybe." I said tensely, feeling hot flushes of anger on my cheeks. Frankly I was sick and tired of his superiority complex which I had been subjected to for a week. Somebody, one day, who wasn't Bats, needed to put him in his place.

He pushed his tray to the side of him, folded his hands together and leaned over the table like he was a shrink again.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked sarcastically, his crystal eyes holding nothing but cold mocking.

And that's when I finally snapped, and tried to scoop his eyeballs out with my spoon.

* * *

"Ow! Not so hard." I whined, whilst being dragged violently by the arm down the corridors towards my cell. I shouldn't have complained though. Of course Frank Boles' reaction was to going to be digging his fingers into the flesh of my arm in order to hold me tighter.

I hissed out in agony.

"Always knew you were a brainless bitch, but you've really outdone yourself now." He chuckled darkly. "What do you think'll happen next time you see Scarecrow? You retard."

Well it looked like somebody wasn't up-to-date on what is politically correct.

But he had had a point though. If I ever saw Crane again, Scarecrow would be sure to retaliate. It didn't matter that my attack had failed in even connecting the spoon with his eye- in my rage, I may have forgotten that he had indeed been wearing glasses, only seeing red. Boles was right, I was dead if I saw him again. So very, very dead.

So it was a good thing that I wouldn't.

"Who says we'll meet again?" I asked him, as he stood unlocking the padlock to my cell door.

Boles opened it, but thought twice about pushing me in and walking away.

"What are you on about, you crazy bitch?" he asked pushing me into the doorway of my cell, one hand resting on the door, threatening to slam it in my face, and his other hand resting characteristically on his dreaded Taser which I was already familiar with.

I lowered my voice, and smirked, "A certain croc, and a certain crooked Guard."

Yup, that's right. You heard me. Apparently there _was_ a cannibal beast that lurked in the depths of Arkham, and Crane hadn't been lying. Who would have guessed it? Certainly not me.

Boles froze in shock, dropping his hand from the metal door.

"So that's what the Joker was telling you so slyly." He said eventually, shaking his head in disbelief towards himself for not realising it sooner.

"Tell me Boles, what do you think will happen once the Press gets a load of this? An inmate too dangerous for society to even know about, and the Guard who let them off the leash to try get a promotion. Sounds like some front cover shit to me. Stacy Gleeson will be talking about this story for weeks."

Boles just raised his eyebrow, seemingly unafraid, "Oh yeah? And how do you think you'll manage to tell them?"

I grinned back, "Sorry to break it to you, but you aren't the most likeable person here. _Any_ Guard in this shithole of an establisment would be willing to rat you out once they find out the whole story. I mean, you _did_ endanger all of their lives. Plus, think of the amount of cash the Press would pay for a story like this. Secrets. Betrayal. Greed. It's got more themes than a fucking Shakespeare."

Boles shrugged casually, "Yeah, you're probably right. So this is the plan, isn't it? Try force me to let you and your clown buddy walk free?"

"Ehh, yeah. That's exactly what I was going to do." I frowned questioningly at myself, Boles' calmness was completely throwing me off my game. I was pretty certain that this wasn't how normal people reacted to being threatened of getting exposed.

"That was a pretty solid plan." He admitted. "Could've worked well too."

"Could of?" I repeated, now completely confused.

"Well let's get this straight. You haven't actually _told_ any Guards yet. Have you?" his released his grip on his Taser in order to fold his arms across his chest arrogantly.

"Well, I've told you." My eyes flickered up to his face trying to understand what he was getting at.

"So no." he snickered, finding this whole situation darkly amusing. "See, if the Joker tells anybody, who would believe him? The psycho isn't known for his truth telling. But with you? Well, people might just think-twice. So the solution is pretty simple. You die."

My whole body turned to stone, paralysed from my stupid error. I had been right, the plan _was too easy._

"Nothing personal," he trailed off for a second before admitting, "Who am I kidding? This is completely personal! Truth is, I've wanted you dead for a while now. There's something about you that just rubs me up the wrong way. You don't even need to speak. The fact that you're still breathing pisses me off."

My memory led me back to the ride to Arkham when I had disrespected him in front of Cash, and not only that but Cash had defended me. To a person as power mad as Boles, he had probably been craving revenge from the get-go. The odds had always been stacked against me.

"So I could kill you now. It's tempting. But after what happened today, looks like I don't need to get my hands dirty. Scarecrow will do the job better than I ever could, tea-time tomorrow. You should've seen the last person Scarecrow got at in this shithole of a place," Boles laughed reminiscing. "He didn't quite kill them, but he brought them close. So fuckin' close. You know what we had to do? Put them down. Like they were a dying dog. Maybe the same'll happen to you. Huh, bitch?"

"Bastard." Was the only word I could whisper out.

Boles just laughed, and kicked me in the stomach sending me flying to the floor in the middle of my cell.

I choked, my lungs trying desperately to refill with air after getting it sucked out from me.

"You know, I wasn't actually going to tell you this. Didn't want to make your life worse than it already is. But now? Now, I think you've deserved the right to know." He said, speaking over the sounds of my heavy coughs. "Want to know how I knew where you were when you were butchering that Nurse? Your clown-friend told me."

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"Liar!"

I sprung up and charged at him. He slammed the door shut, and once again I was sent flying back into my cell.

I felt something wet run down my face, it was blood. A whole goddamn lot of it. My hands held onto my nose, trying unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding.

"Surprised?" Boles laughed.

I shuffled away from the door into the dark corner of my room, trying to escape from Boles and his poisonous words.

"No, no, no." I said frantically, some of the blood running down from my nose seeping into my mouth. "He wouldn't do something like that."

 _He would do something exactly like that._ My mind admitted.

"Sounds like you don't know him that well after all, Princess." I could hear Boles' grin in his words. "I'd be lying if I said it was nice knowing you. See you in Hell, bitch."

I spat out my mouthful of blood aiming skilfully at the gap in the door, but none of it had hit him. He had already left.

In less than twenty four hours, I had managed to go from the happiest person on the planet to the most miserable. How the World loved to toy with me.

* * *

"You have a lot of nerve coming here." Crane seethed at me, threatening to unleash his Mr Hyde, when I sat opposite him again for our meal. I had figured there wasn't any point prolonging the inevitable. If I was going die, I may as well do it when I had lost the will to life anyways.

"Yeah, I'm a complete idiot." I agreed earnestly, full of self loathing from my critical mistake that I had made yesterday. "But in my defensive, blinding you was going to be my parting gift."

Crane held back his wrath, swallowing his spiteful words, suddenly growing curious.

"Parting gift?" He asked, his eyebrows lowering sceptically.

I shrugged stiffly, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm going to die in this dump, either by you or by Boles. I don't know which is worse."

I laughed sarcastically, hiding my fear with craziness. Sometimes in life it was easier to delve into madness than face up to reality. My sudden realisation made me feel slightly guilty for having judged so many inmates in this place.

"Alice. Focus." Crane snapped at me, breaking his cool demeanour. "What are you talking about?"

Having already lost all hope, I figured I may as well just come completely clean. It wasn't as if I could get any more repercussions from my actions. So I confined Crane with everything.

"My bruise, it's from the Joker. We were planning to escape. Long story short, now I'm going to die. And he'll live happily ever after in some lunatic ward in Metropolis."

 _The bastard,_ I cursed him in my head bitterly.

"They're moving him?" Crane frowned suddenly.

"I was so close." I groaned out ignoring his words, putting my head in my hands with utter defeat and despair.

"Focus!" Crane nearly shouted, making me jump up in my seat. It wasn't like him to be so tense, he was usually so uncaring and calm. "Are they moving him? Answer."

"Yes." I sighed out from under my hands.

Crane swore aloud.

"What's stuck up your ass?" I asked angrily looking up from my hands, cross that he was acting that the World was ending when _he_ was perfectly dandy. I felt that I was the only person with the right to true misery.

" _You!"_ he pointed at me accusingly, as if it was all my fault. "I was just using you to get myself acquainted with the Joker. You have ruined _everything."_

"What do you need to get acquainted with the clown for?"

"So we can team up together, to get rid of Gotham's pesky bat problem." he was nearly red in the face with fury.

Oh yeah, he still didn't know.

"Well, there's no need to be melodramatic." I scoffed at him. "I hardly am the one who decided that he should get transferred."

"No," Crane agreed. "But I bet that you messed up the escape plan."

"Barely." I lied.

I had thought the plan would have gone swimmingly, figuring that since I grew up in The Narrows blackmail would have come easily to me. But it had turned out that blackmail was far more complicated than I had first thought. And it wasn't so fun either, at least not when it turned around to bite you back in the ass.

Crane rubbed his forehead, as if trying to defend his brain from stupidity that he felt was contagious. Calming down into his usual cold and collective attitude, as he did so.

"Right," he said finally, burying Scarecrow deep inside of him so he could have full control of the situation. "We need to get out of here."

I couldn't believe my ears, it was about bloody time!

I jerked up in my seat in excitement, and then cautiously queried, "What happened to not wanting to leave?"

Crane looked me dead in the eyes before answering, "If the Joker is leaving, then so am I."

I knew he was obsessed with the clown! I felt like doing a fist pump into the air, but controlled my urges.

"When will we escape then?" I asked eagerly, my fingers dancing along on the table top, creating a tuneful beat from my obvious glee.

Jonathan stared at me for a moment, before permitting himself to let out a few chuckled breathes.

"We, as in the Joker and I. There is no you."

The beat stopped.

"But you said you needed me to get acquainted." I quoted directly.

Crane nodded absorbing my point, "But that was before. I don't need you now, not since I'm going to break him out."

"You're wrong," I argued. "See, the Joker wants me and him kept together."

"Of course he does." Crane shook his head, smiling slightly with disbelief, thinking it was another one of my pathetic ploys to get out of here.

"It's true."

 _It was true!_

"Go on," he encouraged me sarcastically, wanting another chuckle at my desperation. "Tell me why."

I sighed agitatedly, wishing that I had been more successful when I tried blinding him with a spoon. It didn't take much for him to do to piss me off.

"Listen, it beats me. Your guess is as good as mine. But all I know is that, for some reason, when he got caught in the hospital, he got me caught too. By all means, try escape without me. I'm telling you, he'll come for me."

 _I hope._

Crane searched my eyes for lies and then gave in.

"You can come. But if I find out that you're expendable to him, I will relish in terminating you." He threatened lowly, his eyes hardening.

 _No pressure then,_ I gulped, momentarily wondering what would happen to me when he found out that the Batman was no longer a threat to Gotham's criminals, and he could have escaped at any point during my stay. Nothing good, that was for sure.

"So what's the plan?" I questioned, trying to distract my mind from the many possible gruesome outcomes of his wrath.

"I'll cut the alarm system, steal the keys, and we will all walk out of here."

"You're joking right?"

And he thought _I_ was an idiot.

Crane scowled at my judgement, "It's worked before for me."

"Yeah, that was when there was one of you. You may have easily just slipped through the cracks. Now there's three. I'm not willing to risk it, not just for ease."

"First, you force me to let you tag along. Now, you force me to change my plan." He glowered. "What do you suppose then?"

"I'm glad you asked." I beamed. Finally my obsession with Prison Breakout films had come to use. "It's simple really. We need a distraction. Something so big that all it will hold all the Guards attention. Then while we are invisible. That's when we walk out the front doors."

"So what we need is a Prison riot." Crane stated, I could tell that under his cold, calculating eyes he was secretly impressed. "But do you have any idea how hard they are to begin? Most inmates are so doped up that they live in their heads more than here. They wouldn't even notice, let alone react to a riot."

"Which is why you have to start a small one, to unleash the bigger one." I explained with ease, the thought having already occurred to me.

Crane sat silent, listening to my solution.

"See the Monster crew over there, lost without their leader?" I pointed to them with my head, watching them all bicker. "They're vulnerable as well as violent. Anything would set them over the edge. You start something with them, and they'll kick off. The Guards here will be too distracted to notice me sneaking out."

Crane frowned, not liking the sound of trusting me with anything, "Why is it you that sneaks off?"

"Because you won't be able to do the next part." I retorted back. "Whilst they're trying to take control over the situation, I'll find that Croc guy, break him out. And we've got our diversion."

"You thought Killer Croc was a bullshit."

I shrugged loosely, "Yeah well, I changed my mind."

"And then what?" Jonathan asked, uninterested in how I came to the revelation, all he wanted to now was the plan.

"We regroup at Maximum Security which should be empty given there's an animal of the rampage. We break him out, and like you said- walk out of here."

Crane nodded sarcastically, "This is all supposing that the Croc doesn't kill you the moment you open his cell door, which I wonder how you will manage given you don't have any keys to open the lock."

He didn't trust that I could manage any of it, but most of all he didn't trust me. He thought as soon as the miniature riot was taking place in the cafeteria I would chance escaping through the entrance. And I probably would have considered doing just that if I had known the directions to the front door from the dining hall, which I obviously didn't. The only places I knew how to get to were from my cell to the cafeteria, and maximum security section from my cell. Other than that, I was clueless. I needed him currently just as much as he needed me.

"Listen Doc. All I need from you is to tell me where they keep him, and a paperclip. If we haven't regrouped within ten minutes you are free to assume I am dead, and can leave with your boyfriend without me."

Crane eyed me up suspiciously, ignoring my jeer, "You seem to be very willing to risk your life for someone who got you here in the first place."

I grimaced at the memory.

"Yeah well, as soon as I'm out of here, I'm going my separate way." I admitted, "I can't stand the clown. But he's my ticket to freedom. If I have to save him to save myself, then I'd do it a hundred times over. So I'll take my chances with the Croc. If I don't then I'm dead anyways, by either you or Boles."

Plus I was hopeful that the Croc wouldn't be willing to eat anything that hadn't been clean in a week. Tainted meat, and whatnot.

"If you even consider double crossing me, I'll kill you." He warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I tried to give him a small reassuring smile. "So, the Croc?"

He paused for a second, considering yet again whether or not to trust me before answering.

"Bottom level. You take a right if you leave through the backdoors, go down two flights of stairs, go along the corridor and turn right. Then keep going until you come to his cell door. It's easy to spot, it's the only one there."

Sounded easy enough.

"How about Guards?"

Crane let out a small smile, "Nearly non-existent. Only time he gets checked to see if he's still breathing is dinnertime when they throw him a chunk of meat. Nobody wants to go near him in case he catches a craving for their scent."

I swallowed, that didn't sound good.

"Only thing you got to watch out for is the security cameras," he cautioned. "Once they find out you're down there you'll have four minutes at the very most to break him out."

"Got it. So the paperclip?"

"Easy." He bragged. "I'll have it you by tomorrow."

I nodded.

"Remember," he reminded me, as if I may have forgotten. "Double cross me-"

"And you'll rip my lungs out from my mouth" I finished it for him, brushing off his threat. "Don't worry, I'll save you all the trouble. See you, same time tomorrow."

I was only hoping that Boles wouldn't have my dead by then.

* * *

 **Author's Note: The next chapter is a biggie, so I'll try to have it written as quickly as possible. Then after that, it is onto Part Three which will finally feature much more of the Joker, and Alice's complex relationship with him. I'm so pumped! Thank you again for all the support, I can't emphasise how much it means to me.**


	15. Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum

**Chapter Eleven- Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum**

"You got it?" I asked immediately sitting in my usual position, opposite of him. Turned out that Boles hadn't crept into my cell in the middle of the night to end my life, like I had thought the bastard would do, and frankly that was a miracle.

"I've got it." His put a clenched fist on the table, hiding the paperclip within it. "Remember-"

"Seriously, do we have to this again?" I sighed, "I get it. I won't double cross you, save your breath."

Crane glared at me from under his thick glasses, and dropped the paperclip onto my side of the table. I swiped it up in one easy motion, hiding it my own fist under the table. Carefully looking around to make sure that no Guards witnessed anything. As usual, they were clueless.

"Ten minutes. Outside Maximum Security. If you aren't there, the plan goes on without you."

"I'll be there." I promised.

Crane smirked, "That's what you think. You haven't ever met Killer Croc yet, you don't know what he's capable of."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." I said, rolling my eyes. Then immediately wondering an important detail of the plan, "How will you know when the ten minutes are up?"

I had suddenly noticed that he wasn't wearing any watch, and I hadn't seen a clock decorated on any of the corridors in this place.

"I will leave when I get tired of waiting." He told me truthfully.

I grimaced. My ten minutes to get in and out of the lower levels had drastically shortened in length.

"You better be counting the seconds in your head." I told him, not trusting him to wait for me at all.

Crane just stared expressionlessly at me, not helping to restore any level of faith I had for him in me. It was clear to me that it wasn't him who had to worry about me double-crossing him, it was me that should be concerned. I was starting to doubt that he was going to wait even a minute for my arrival. He seemed sure that the Croc was going to murder me on site, so therefore to his mind, waiting would only be a waste of time.

"You better wait." I demanded of him, my voice low and tense.

"I'll wait." He tried to give me a reassuring smile that ended up looking more like a sneer, which succeeded in only making me grow more alarmed. I prayed for a second miracle. "Do you remember the way?"

"Backdoors, turn right, down two flights, along a corridor and turn right. I've got this so long as you have the distraction."

Crane tilted his head down and stayed silent, staring at the table.

I frowned at his peculiar behaviour, and tried to snap him out of it, "Eh, Crane-"

"Wrong." He snapped up, staring at me with wide and alert eyes. "It's Scarecrow."

Well that was a sure as hell way to give a person a heart attack.

Before I could even think he was going to try and attack me again, Scarecrow was gone. He sprung up from our table, leaving it, taking his tray with him, and walked straight over to the monster posse. Scarecrow ignored the threats of the Guards, who tried to quickly get him back into his seat before an incident would occur. But all of them were far to far away to stop or prevent anything from happening.

I watched the scene play out before me with avid anticipation.

Scarecrow dumped the remaining contents of his tray over one of the gang members. They stood up in surprise at all the food that had been thrown over them. As the jumped out of their seat, Scarecrow violently smashed the tray down on their head, knocking them straight out. The thump of their head falling to the table echoing through the hall causing everyone to stop eating.

The rest of the posse looked up to him in amazement, thinking that they had found their new leader. Their weak minds forcing them to follow the strongest person in proximity, giving them an unstable form of protection.

But there hope for an new dictator was short lived when Scarecrow smashed his tray into another posse member's face, breaking their nose.

"Hey!" shouted the nearest Guard, who weaved in between the tables to get close enough to break up the fight. "Quit it, there!"

The rest of the posse jumped up from their seats in an effort to try and defend themselves, both from Scarecrow's attacks and the Guard rushing over, who clutched onto his baton threatening to use it.

Scarecrow sensing the nearby Guard, threw his tray like a Frisbee in his direction.

It was spot on target.

The tray hit the Guard smack in the middle of the face, causing him to fall to immediately to the floor. The impact having thrown him off balance.

Some of the more coherent inmates, sensing an opportunity for revenge for all the wrongs enacted on them by the Guards, pounced from their seats and pounded over to the weak and vulnerable Guard who was recovering from the shock on the floor. The mob that swarmed around him wanted blood. And it wasn't too long until you could taste the copper in the air. I was tempted to join into the chaos myself, but managed to withhold, still surveying the situation.

The other surrounding Guards scrambled towards the horde to maintain order and save their colleague. The only thing they succeeded in doing was getting dragged into the growing mass. That's when the other Guards made the decision to whip out the Tasers and teargas. And that's when I made the decision to get out of there.

I sprinted over towards the backdoor which was now unguarded, climbing over tables and inmates, stomping somebody in the face who had grabbed onto my ankle. But despite the chaos, I managed to make it out the doors in one piece. It didn't mean that I didn't require a break, however. I bent down clutching onto my knees for support, as I tried to regain my breath. It looked like somebody was needing to work on their cardio fitness more regularly.

Fitting off the feeling of heavy lungs, I ran down the two flights of stairs, jumping the last four steps to cut my time. And raced towards his enclosure, well aware that the security cameras were turning, watching me sprint past, probably already informing security of the unknown presence in the hallway.

Two minutes, Crane had said. I had this easily, I hoped.

I got to what I assumed to be his cell. I say 'assumed' because it wasn't like any of the other cells in the Asylum. Firstly, the door was a staggering nine feet high, and without a barred window which let the inmate see out into the corridor. Instead, the door had a tiny latch at the bottom with a padlock, which is what the Guard's must have used to give the inmate his meals. Another difference was it was made of pure steel, and looked pretty thick too. The Asylum spared no expenses in keeping this creature locked away. Although, judging from what Crane had told me the other day, they hadn't exactly been the most successful.

I knocked politely on the door, "Anybody home?"

Whilst I leaned my ear against it, to listen in for a reply. A huge thump riveted through the door, sending me jumping backwards into the corridor with an earache. The steel door vibrated against its frame, despite its denseness. And suddenly, I had second doubts about my plan. Crane had a right to believe that I wouldn't be making it back to the meeting place.

I cursed at myself for not agreeing to go with Crane's original idea, but still started to work at the lock which held the dead bolt securely in place. It wasn't as if I had another option now. Listening with my other ear, which hadn't been assaulted, for the faint clicks that told me I was on the right tracks. If there was anything I understood completely in the whole World, it was how to pick a lock. It was an art form.

Under my breath, I faintly counted seconds, trying to work out how much time I had remaining.

 _Thirty two seconds._ That was all it had taken to pick it. Still, I was disappointed. My lock picking skills had gotten rusty over the years. I'd need to get the knack of it again once I was freed, before I could get back into the burglary business like I had done as a teenager before the Morrisons' had found my secret stash of cash, and grounded me indefinitely- a punishment that only lasted two weeks.

They had been too soft, too caring. It was unbelievable how they had managed to survive living so purely in The Narrows, a place which saw some of Gotham's newest citizens stroll into by accident and tainted them forever. In a way, I was pleased that they had died from a car malfunction, and it hadn't been killed from any of the twisted hate acts that The Narrows were notorious for, acts that polluted the papers on a daily basis. It didn't mean that it wasn't any less painful for my heart, now that they were gone.

I undid the latch, and turned the heavy lever handle lock which the door had as another safety precaution.

I took a step back, ready to take off in a moment's notice. The flickering lights adding even more tension to my already jittery mind. I tried to believe that my heavy breathes were from the running, but my mind knew better. I was scared shitless.

The inmate behind the door opened the door slowly, the steel screeching as it scrapped against the floor. But when the door was fully open, all I saw was darkness. Killer Croc was hiding away inside his cell, refusing to step into the light.

I held my breath.

Then ever so slowly, he thumped towards the doorway. His heavy footsteps vibrating along the floor like an earthquake. First I witnessed a pair of webbed taloned feet, and then I looked up to see the most frightening site of my life.

The beast lived up to its name. The monster standing as tall as the doorway, with green scales instead of skin and hair, and muscle's wrestlers would have killed for. His teeth, which were like razors, prodded out from his mouth, bits off meat from previous meals stuck between them. Not even his own mother could have loved his face. He was the most fuck-ugly thing I had ever seen and ever would see. He was also the most terrifying.

"Who arrrreee yooouuu?" he hissed out, sending my nerves ablaze with fear. But he hadn't spoken specifically in my direction, his head moved around trying to sense where I was.

That's when I noticed it, his scar.

I had thought maybe his eyes were supposed to be red. It made sense. After all, nobody's skin is supposed to be green. But it wasn't that. His eyes were red from being bloodshot, and they were bloodshot because of the thick wound that cut through them horizontally. Somebody seemed to have come at him with a knife. It meant he couldn't see properly.

"Who did that to you?" I asked suddenly feeling guilty for judging him so badly to begin with, nobody would ask to look like that. I had momentarily forgotten that he did eat people for fun.

His head snapped towards me, locating me the second I opened my mouth.

"Ennnemmy." Was his one worded reply.

"Batman?"

He seemed to be more hated than the cops with Gotham's criminal underworld. But not with Killer Croc.

"Caaasssshhhh."

I swallowed a lump in my throat, the mystery of Cash's missing hand had been solved.

Killer Croc sniffed the air, and took a step forward out of his cell, causing me to take a step backwards and trap my back against the way.

"Tell me, strrrraaangerrr. Why shhhhooouldn't I killll yoouu?"

I frowned, confused. I had figured that saving him from his small cage would have been enough to get into anybody's good books.

"Other than the fact I just freed you?"

"I'm starrrvinggg."

Clearly not with him.

I stumbled, "Honestly, I don't have any meat on my bones. I'd taste awful! Why bother with a measly appetiser when you can go straight for mains?"

He launched forward making me scream, grabbing my arm with his clawed hands to hold me in place, and check I wasn't lying.

"Sooo muchhh bone, I won't eeeattt yoou." He confirmed, making me breathe out a deep sigh of relief. "But why shhoouldn't I killlll youuu?"

We were back at that again. My mind whirled at a hundred miles an hour, trying to think of valid reasons that an animal like him would accept.

"Because," I trailed off, still thinking. "I might be the only person in the World who gets you!"

"Whattt?" he turned his head to the side, utterly confused at my statement.

I started speaking, saying the first things that came into my head, hoping he wouldn't notice I was making this all up on the spot, "Me and you, we're the same. Society judges us both, but you know what? Fuck them! Is it my fault that I grew up in The Narrows? Of course not! How about morphine? I can't help but like it, it that so wrong of me? Hell no. And you! You like eating human flesh, what's so bad about that?"

I paused for a second, realising what I had just said, and scratching my neck with my free hand awkwardly. "Well, a lot of things actually. But it's not your fault you look like that. They laughed at you, treated you as an outsider, as a monster. So it's no wonder you act the way you do. You want revenge. I get that. So do I. So you see, you can't kill me because I want exactly the same thing as you. Payback. And we'll get it, we'll _both_ get it."

Killer Croc thought before speaking, having to think of to words he was going to say. His sharp teeth meant talking was a pain for him, literally. Some blood dripped down from his chin where his teeth had scraped against his scales. And I thought I had had it bad in life.

"Yoouu know whattt ittt'sss like to beeee laughed at?" he asked, showing a new side of him. Hidden under his thick scales, he was secretly human too. Weirdly enough, it reminded me off the film _Shrek._ I guess that that meant I was Donkey.

"The man I want to kill has made a running joke of my whole life." I truthfully admitted. "But to do that, you've got to keep me alive. Think you can do that this one time, huh Waylon?"

 _Using his real name, nice touch,_ I complimented myself internally. Waiting patiently for his answer, with my eyebrow raised hopefully.

He let go of my arm, and I thanked my lucky stars.

"Gooood luckkkkk."

"Back at ya!" I grinned widely, always knowing that one day my big mouth would finally become responsible for talking me out of trouble.

Then I ran out of there, like a bat out of Hell. Not allowing him one second to change his mind.

* * *

I charged up the stairs, taking two at a time, determined to get away from the monster as quickly as possible, and towards another one. But froze in panic when I heard a large number of footsteps pounding down the stairs. The Guards all halted when they met me. That had taken them way more than two minutes to get down.

"He's escaped." I told them, breaking the unbearably tense silence, trying not to smirk as my words were met by a wave of curses.

They all pushed past me, running down to meet their doom. All but one.

Frank Boles.

Of course it had to be him.

He sneered at me. Threatening me with his Taser to follow him and to not try any funny business. Left with no choice, I did so, knowing that whatever was going to happen to me from here on out, it wouldn't be good. Trust Boles to see to that.

My thoughts were confirmed as we entered into an empty electrotherapy room, and straight away he backhanded me across the face. This wouldn't be good at all.

"Lucky me. Old Boles will get to kill you himself." He sneered, before hitting me across the face again.

"Screw you!" I spat, my cheek burning from the sting of the slap. "I did not just successfully talk myself out of being murdered by a huge green creature, to die straight afterwards by _you_."

"Get on the chair." He pointed to the old faded psychiatric leather chair that sat in the middle of the room.

I refused, knowing what he was planning.

"What? You got a fetish for electricity or something?" I threw him a verbal jab, not confident enough to go for a physical one whilst the Taser was still in his hand. "First the Taser, then this."

"Sit in it." He demanded.

I stood my ground defiantly, "So you can torture and then kill me? Now, why would anybody sane do that?"

"You're far from sane. Sit in the chair before I beat you into a pulp and haul you into it myself," He snickered. "Coming to think of it, that option doesn't seem half bad."

I immediately jumped onto the seat.

Boles bound my limbs tightly to the chair with the scratchy leather straps. But an itch was the furthest thing in my mind when Boles took two electrodes and placed them on opposite sides of my temples, pressing down hard on my scalp in order to make them stick.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" I asked snarky, watching his brain churn to work out whether he was doing it correctly or not.

"I can always attach them to your eyeballs, if that's what you want." He snapped.

It shut me up, my mind filling with horrible images of what it would feel like to have your eyes explode inside of the sockets, it wasn't pretty.

But of course, my silence didn't last long. Especially when I noticed Boles struggling with the technological equipment.

"Have you tried switching it off and on again?" I queried, using my professional customer support member voice. It seemed that I really didn't know when to keep a lid on it.

Boles glared up at me, "Did you forget what I just said?"

"Just trying to help." I smiled innocently, moving my shoulders up. Focusing the rest of my energy on trying to keep my jittering left foot still. I didn't want Boles to see that I was piss scared.

He stared at the control panel for a few more moments, before turning a knob and flicking over a switch. A low droning sound filled the room. I cursed out silently, the stars had already abandoned me.

Boles leaned over the chair, hovering above my face, forcing me to breathe in his own vile air.

"We'll start of easy. And then we can work our way up." He told me. "The only way you're leaving this room is if you are dead, or a vegetable."

"Fuck yo-"

He flipped a switch.

My eyes clenched closed, and I opened my mouth to let out an all mighty scream.

The current that swept through my body, set all my nerves alight, and I felt them fry inside of me, burning to a charcoal crisp. I had thought being Tased had been bad, but compared with this, Tasers were candyfloss and ice cream. Something popped inside of my head, and I was so focused on the echoes of the bang it had created within me that I didn't notice when he had switched the voltage off.

"You enjoy that bitch?"

"Fuck y-"

I screeched again. Louder this time.

Round two was worse, by a tenfold. My muscles contracted in ways I never knew to be possible, fighting against the tight leather straps, cracking open some of my skin. The nerves which I thought had been fried felt like they were being scorched with a red hot poker. Tears fell from my scrunched up eyes, and I couldn't help but let out a sob in the middle of my shriek.

The voltage stopped charging through me, but my body kept twitching and brain hammered violently against my temple.

I opened my mouth to speak.

Boles cut me off, "Careful bitch. My finger might slip again."

"Please." I croaked out, opening my eyes to try beg the sadistic fucker.

"Sorry, bitch. What was that? You'll have to speak up." He mocked, leaning over my face with his ear to try hear me properly, making me feel pathetic.

Even with my frazzled brain, I saw an opportunity and took it.

I snap my head up, biting onto his ear with my teeth.

It was Boles turn to yell, punching me in the stomach with fist in an attempt to make me let go. It only made me bite down harder. His blood began to fill me mouth, and I tried desperately not to choke on it so I wouldn't lose my hold. Boles tried wrestling out of my iron grip and gave an almighty tug away from me.

A ripping sound filled the room, as well as a yelp.

I spat the torn off ear to him, grinning triumphantly, feeling his blood drool down from my mouth. If I was going to die, at least he would be forced to remember me.

"You know what they say," I laughed, blood flowing down off my chin and tears coming out from my eyes. "Payback's a bitch!"

Boles clutched to the bloody side of his head in panic, not believing what had happened to him. His eyes briefly welling up. I think I may have broken him.

"That's it, bitch." He spluttered out, trying hard to sound tough but failing miserably. "Now you're going to get it."

I watched him turn the knob onto full power, and braced myself for impact.

But the shock never came.

What came next was Boles screaming again.

My head turned immediately to see what was happening. A small man, no bigger than five foot with flaming orange hair that matched his jumpsuit, had jumped onto Boles' back and was working hard to rip out Frank's other ear with his own teeth. The stranger had his short arms wrapped securely around Boles' throat trying to suffocate him, an attempt which was indeed working, as Boles' gasped for air to fill his lungs, trying to scratch the man's arms to force him to let go.

My first thought was that the shocks had messed with my brain, and this was all an illusion.

Thankfully this thought was proven to be incorrect.

Boles slumped to the floor unconscious, and my fellow inmate undid my leather straps after giving up on tearing Boles' other ear off. Saying to himself 'it's harder than it looks.'

I sat up slowly, my mind spinning. The room seemed ten times brighter and also looked to be on an axis, every minuet noise was louder, and there was a drumming in my ears that wouldn't quit. I hoped that these side effects would only be temporary.

The stranger winded me, running up and enclosing me in a tight hug. Despite his size, he was strong.

"Alice!" he shouted in glee.

I choked in response, not sure if he was trying to suffocate me like he had done with Boles.

"Alice!" He shouted again, releasing me from his grip and looking at me with enthused eyes. "Did you enjoy my cake, Alice? I stole it especially for you!"

Yet another mystery solved. I was proving out to be quite the detective today.

I stared at him cluelessly, wondering how he knew me and why he saved me. I had never seen him before in my life. I didn't even know his name.

"Of course," he slapped his face stupidily with realisation. "You don't know, Alice! I work for Black Mask, he asked me to look out for you. It's a good thing I got here when I did, otherwise we'd both be in trouble!"

I shuddered, not wanting to think about what that last shock would have done to my brain.

"Black Mask?" I questioned, not knowing who he was either. "Is he here too?"

"Of course not!" he laughed jovially, clutching onto his stomach as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "He was going to break you out soon, looks like you got a head start on him. I'll take you to him when we are on the outside."

Despite this Black Mask saving my life and all, I didn't feel overly keen on meeting him. I made a secret decision to lose Crane, the Joker, and now this stranger, as soon as we were all free again. If he had a hold over Sharp, it meant he was trouble. And I was determine to lay low, until I could think of the perfect way to kill Sionis. I had a few ideas, but there is always room for improvement.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am to finally meet you, Alice!" he gushed, as if I were famous. "I've been searching for years! Imagine my surprise when Black Mask ordered me to watch over you in here. Why, it must've been fate!"

"Yeah, completely." I agreed half-heartedly, having no idea what he was on about but thought better than to offend him having just witness what had happened to Boles. "Sorry, and you are?"

"Don't you recognise me?" his smile broke in half, a crazed bewildered look coming into his eyes. "I'm the Mad Hatter."

Oh shit. I drew the connections. The loon thought I was Alice, the real Alice. The Alice from the books.

"Haha. I was just messing with you." I lied, figuring that so long as he thought I was really her I was safe. I didn't want to know what he would do if he thought I was an impostor.

He smiled widely back at me, "That's my Alice, all ways so playful. We've got to get the gang together again for a Tea Party! Now, I met the White Rabbit, just the other day. But I can't tell you how rude he was! He bit my finger, so I stomped on his head! Really, now, what a way to treat an old friend!"

I smiled grimly, clearly I had made the right decision to play along with his delusion. But I panicked when I saw Boles stir his legs on the floor, quickly gaining consciousness again.

"Mad Hatter, don't you think we should maybe escape first?" I asked tactfully, not straying my eyes away from Frank.

"Marvellous idea!" he clapped his hands together excitedly, and then gave me one to help me off my seat.

I took it gratefully, but stumbled back down as the world span around me. I felt bile rise up in my mouth, and I was forced to swallow it. So much for escaping. I could hardly even move!

"Well, this won't do." He said to himself, before spotting something in the corner of the room and running over to it. It was a wheelchair, I tilted my head back in relief, feeling almost blessed. And then, launched myself into it.

"We've got to head to Maximum Security." I informed him not bothering to explain any further, as he wheeled me to the door. Mad Hatter didn't seem to be one who cared for details, if he had created his personality on the book's, which I'm guessing he had. He seemed over the moon to finally be with 'Alice', and that was more than enough for him.

"You bitch!" I heard Frank Boles mutter as he gained consciousness. That was when I had a brain wave.

"Wait!" I called out. "Grab Boles' keys."

The Mad Hatter congratulated me for having such a fast-thinking mind, then skipped over to Frank stealing his ring of keys, and punched him square in the face, sending Boles flying straight back to the land of Nod.

We were then well on our way to the rendezvous, already late.

* * *

"You waited, you actually waited!" I shouted in amazement, whilst the Mad Hatter wheeled me toward him, running. I could hear how out of breath he was from the sprint, but he hadn't once complained aloud. Despite doubting how harmless he was, he was really growing on me. He did have his uses. He was a servant and body guard all rolled into one, and frankly I could do with both.

Crane stood leaning against the door of the corridor, cleaning a dried blood stain off his glasses with a handkerchief. It had been well over ten minutes, but yet he still stayed. I wasn't sure whether to be thankful or suspicious. So I was a bit of both.

His orange jumpsuit was covered with dark splodges of red blood, none of which was his own. Crane's neatly slicked hair had also become ruffled up in the riot, causing it to stick up in random areas. I found it hard not to grin at his dishevelled appearance when he had always succeeded in looking so immaculate, it was refreshing to not be the only scruffy one in the squad.

 _Squad?_ I scoffed. What was happening to me? Maybe we'd all start making matching friendship bracelets, and have slumber parties with a set bed time. I couldn't imagine anything more horrific. I was a lone wolf. I didn't need any of them. Well maybe a little at the moment. But that wasn't the point. I didn't need friends. Not now, not ever. Especially not friends who were more than willing to murder you, or double-cross you like the Joker had. I think I'd manage better on my own.

"You're actually alive." He said impressed, before frowning when he noticed I was in a wheelchair.

"Yeah barely." I stated, the obvious but not bothering to elaborate. We didn't have time for small talk, and Crane wouldn't care for what had happened to me in my departure anyways.

"Who's this?" he questioned, putting back on his spectacles.

"He calls himself the Mad Hatter." I answered for him. Crane nodded in acknowledgement, seeming to recognise his alias. He'd probably read and memorised all the case files in Arkham for fun. It beat wallowing in boredom every day.

I held up the keys we collected from Boles' pocket, "We got the Master Key, ready to get him?"

Crane took the keys from my hand as his answer, and unlocked the Wing to enter Maximum Security. He held the door open as the Mad Hatter wheeled me inside. Turns out even sociopaths like Crane had the decency to be chivalrous. Who knew.

"Well, shit." Was the collective response.

The hallway seemed endless. There had to be at least two hundred cells, all tightly compacted together on both sides. There was no way we'd have time to check them all out, hunting for the Joker. It would be the equivalent of trying to find a needle in a stack of needles.

But I had spoken too soon.

Above the sounds of groans and painful yells, one noise rung above it all.

Laughter.

We followed it, rushing to the cell labelled 0801. All of us looking at each other, trying to clarify that we were at the right one. Something which was funny, given the Mad Hatter had no idea what we were doing anyways, but was overjoyed to be involved in the group.

"That you Joker?" I called, leaning forward on my chair listening out for the response.

"Well, it's about time Alice!" was the answer.

"It's him alright." I said to Crane, who immediately went to the lock, swinging the door wide open.

The Joker stood right behind the entrance, as if he had been expecting my arrival for quite some time. He immediately did a double take when he saw the two strangers, Crane and the Mad Hatter, instead of Boles, and me in a wheelchair, still without the strength to walk, and completely covered in cuts, bruises and blood.

He looked at them frowning, and back to me expectantly, demanding an answer.

"Boles' didn't pull through. We had to improvise." I told him wiping some of Frank's dried blood from my chin self consciously having forgotten it was there, before introducing him to the others. "This is Jonathan Crane, you'll probably know him-"

"Scarecrow." He finished, he seemed angry but he hid it with a laugh and a smile. Still, it was difficult to miss the hardness in his eyes.

I frowned, not expecting this. The Joker and Scarecrow were similar as in they both had a craving for violence and destruction, as well as a compulsive obsession with a man who dressed up as a Bat. It would've been a perfect match. They could've started their own fan club.

"And this," I said moving on, ignoring the bad vibes- they weren't my problem. "This, is the Mad Hatter."

The Joker no longer seemed to care who the others were, all of his attention focused on me.

"Why, Alice, are you in a wheelchair?" he asked, ignoring the others presence, having already lost interest, crouching his back to get nearer to me as if he was sharing a huge secret. "You get weak knees, before me. I did take your breath away last time we met."

Quite literally.

"I saved Alice!" the Mad Hatter interrupted, pleased with himself.

The Joker's attention snapped towards him, and he smiled sinisterly taking a step forward trying to intimidate.

"Really now?" he asked, feigning interest, his fingers twitching behind his back, ready for action. "And how _-uh_ may that have happened?"

The Mad Hatter was clueless, and I was secretly concerned for him, but didn't come to the rescue. Every man for himself, and whatnot. It wasn't as if I could've been capable of preventing an attack anyways, I would have just made myself another target.

"They tried to fry her brains-" he begun.

The Joker face flickered with a trace of emotion and he looked down to me, now he was actually genuinely interested. But the story would have to wait, we didn't have the time.

"We should get moving." Crane suggested interrupting the Mad Hatter, but his words weren't a proposal, they were a demand.

We all agreed, and ran towards the exit of the Wing. The Mad Hatter having to work extra hard to keep the both of us up with Crane and the Joker, whose long limbs gave them a natural advantage.

We got there, and exited the double doors, coming to the stairs which led into the Main Hall. The stairs which should've been the route to freedom, becoming our next obstacle.

"Guys, who will we get me down?" I asked, suddenly concerned they'd all leave me for dead.

"We don't" Crane suggested, confirming that I had a right to be worried.

"We've got to help Alice!" the Mad Hatter protested, backing my corner.

Everybody turned to the Joker, apparently our group was part democracy. The only person's whose vote didn't count, being mine. Backwards fucks.

"It's simple. All we have to do is," he grinned coming round to the back of the wheelchair. "Give her a little— _Push!"_

And with that word, I was sent flying out my chair, tumbling down two full flights of stairs. My already bruised body becoming even more battered and blue. I collided with the floor painfully, it knocking the wind out of me. The wheelchair lay a few metres from my head, one of the wheels bent at an angle.

The Mad Hatter came running down after me, screeching as if he had been the one who got thrown, and the Joker came running down with him eager to see how much damage he had inflicted.

"I think my arm's broken." I complained, unable to move it from under me.

The Joker bent down a grabbed it, picking me up off my feet by it and making me stand up straight, oblivious to my screams of withering agony. Coloured dots entered my vision, and I had to fight to stay conscious.

He dropped it and smiled even wider, "Looks like you can stand after all."

I glared at him, "Would've saved me a lot of pain if you tested that theory _before_ throwing me down the stairs."

He thought for a second, his eyes looking up to his head before looking down to me again.

"Where's the fun in that?" he whispered hotly into my ear, before laughing crazily.

Crane got to the bottom of the steps, and inspected it from afar.

"Only seems dislocated to me." He stated coolly.

"Gee, thanks for your professional opinion." I snapped at him, angry he was so unfazed about leaving me behind.

I had been right about not wanting to get attached. Currently, I hated them all.

He only shrugged, looking boredly at the Mad Hatter who stood hunched over the wheelchair, trying to re-position the broken wheel. At least one person in the team cared for my well-being. My soft spot growing for the delusional midget.

Then we all heard it. The sounds of shouts and footsteps.

That turned out to be all the motivation I needed to send me running after the others towards the front door, to freedom.

The door opened, and I was blinded with light. My pupils struggled to adjust to the sun's strength, having only been in artificial light for over a week. When they did adjust, I saw that it wasn't even that bright. The sky was cloudy, threatening to open and pour out rain, and Gotham was covered in its usual grey smog, from all the pollution done by its inhabitants. Still, the sight was so beautiful to me that it brought tears to my eyes.

The air may not have been completely fresh due to the smog, but it beat the stale air of Arkham by miles. I let my lungs fills up, savouring the taste, wondering why I had never noticed how clean it felt inside my body before. I was willing to relish in the moment, if the Mad Hatter hadn't reminded me of the escape plan by pushing me forward towards the others.

And we were off again, making our way towards Crane and the Joker who were standing next to one of the Asylum's inmate transporting vans. I witnessed the Joker pull an innocent guard who had been sat in the driver's seat, out of the window, by the scruff of his neck, tossing him onto the ground below.

I speed up, wanting to see what was happening.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" the Joker asked the Guard, grabbing onto the man's blotted face with his filthy hands, and tilting his own face from side-to-side letting the light show the extent of the scars.

The Guard was too paralysed to move, still trying to comprehend that he had been snuck up on in his lunch break by the Joker who was supposed to be locked up. He clearly hadn't got the memo that there were multiple inmates on the loose.

Crane let Scarecrow out, who watched over the situation in delight, relishing in the man's fear.

"Is now seriously the time?" I said, exhausted from all the running and torture this day had entailed. Breakout films had made it look so easy. "Kill as many people as you want on the outside. We still aren't in the clear yet."

The sounds of Guards shouting from within the Asylum helped prove my point. The Joker still glared at me for interrupting his speech, and Crane glowered wanting to see how terrified the Guard was going to get. He'd already opened up his bowel, urine running down out of his trouser leg.

"You're right." He eventually admitted. "Shove him in the back, he's coming with us."

I rolled my eyes.

"Alice, where are we going?" the Mad Hatter asked me as if I was the one with all the answers.

Crane answered for me, "My place."

Well, this was going to be an eventful day. And it wasn't near finished yet.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Surprise double chapter upload! This is my longest chapter I've ever written by far, nearly twice as long as my usual one! The story's now well over 50,000 words- aiming to have it up to 120,000 by the time it is finished, that's the target at least so finger's crossed I manage. The next one's a quickie, not exactly a chapter but more of a set up. Just because I was originally going to go straight into Part Three, but thought I'd add an extra part to make it flow. I'll say no more! Enjoy!**


	16. Like A Pair of Jokers

**Chapter Twelve- Like A Pair of Jokers (3rd Person)**

"Bill Parsons' funeral is tomorrow, Master Wayne." Alfred informed Bruce, walking into his bedroom with a tray of food. "It will be good for the company's image if you attend."

"Send Lucius." Bruce croaked into his pillow, lying face down on his mattress.

Alfred placed the tray down on his oak side table and moved around the bed in order to draw open the curtains. Wayne groaned out in annoyance at the unexpected light. He didn't seem to care than it was well past two in the afternoon.

Alfred hadn't seen him out of this room since the death of Dent, no matter how much he had encouraged Bruce to get some fresh air. As far as Alfred was aware, the only time that Bruce left the comfort of his own bed, was when he needed to relieve himself in his ensuite. Alfred, having taken care of Bruce since he was born, knew that he was grieving Rachel's death. He had become a recluse for a period of time after his parent's had died, and it had been Rachel who had helped cox him back into the world again. Now Alfred felt the responsibility lay with him.

"Lex Luthor called again." Alfred told his employer, after he had woken up enough to turn over and prop himself up with his own elbows whilst staying laid on the bed. He was working hard to distract Bruce's mind from his loss, and get him back on his feet again.

"Lucius can handle it." Bruce said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Alfred shook his head, "Lex Luthor will only talk to you, Master Bruce."

"Well then, he'll have to keep calling."

Bruce's butler picked up the remote that lay next to him, and turned on the large plasma television. It popped up with the news and Alfred quickly flicked the channel over to a cooking program.

Despite just waking up, Bruce didn't miss a beat.

"Alfred, what was that?" His eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"Nothing, Master Bruce." His butler lied, and he had lied badly, Bruce seeing straight through it in an instant.

Wayne reached over and took the remote from Alfred's hand, and turned the channel over to _GCN._ He was transfixed with the scenes that played out before both of them.

"When we're you going to tell me about this, Alfred?" Bruce Wayne asked accusingly at his butler once he finally understood what was happening, his eyes not straying from the scenes that played out before him on his gigantic plasma TV.

Five inmates escaped. The death count already at twelve. And the GCPD clueless as where to start searching for the killers.

"I didn't think it was important, Master Bruce. Thought it'd be best not to trouble you." Alfred said awkwardly.

" _Not important?"_ Wayne snapped, taking his anger out on the only person close to him. "Twelve are dead, Alfred! I should have been there."

Alfred warned him, "If you were there, it may have been thirteen. Let the coppers handle this one. The people of Gotham have turned on Batman, you don't know what will happen if they see him again."

Alfred had prayed that Bruce would put his vigilante business to rest, and thought his wish had come true after what had happened with Dent. Bruce had been given the opportunity to quit for good, to live a normal life, to even start a family, but Bruce wasn't interested in any of it.

"Who do you think escaped?" Bruce quizzed his butler, demanding an answer. The Asylum and Police were not yet willing to release names.

"It could be anyone, Master Wayne."

Purposefully not giving the answer that Bruce wanted. That Bruce needed to hear.

"We were stupid, we should have seen this coming," Bruce ranted. "If he can escape from GCPD custody, he can escape from Arkham."

Alfred tried stopping him, "We don't know it's him."

"Of course it's him, Alfred."

"Please, Master Wayne. Gotham doesn't need Batman anymore, but your friends need Bruce Wayne." He pleaded, not wanting another restless night when his concerns for Bruce's safety took over his need for sleep.

"Friends? What friends? The one friend I had was murdered by the man who now walks free." His eyes momentarily glazed over with tears, before getting consumed by anger.

"Lucius, me. We are your friends." Alfred answered hesitantly.

Bruce stared at Alfred his eyes hardening up from the grief which he was not confronting, "You aren't my friends. You are my employees."

He had meant for his words to hurt, but that didn't stop the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach occurring when he saw Alfred's wounded eyes. Just as Alfred knew that he was only saying such statements because he was upset, but it didn't mean that the insult didn't sting.

"I know you are sad and angry about what happened to Ms Dawes. But Rachel wanted you to give up with Batman and lead a normal life. Perhaps you should respect her wishes."

"Not until that clown is locked up for good."

Rachel had been right, thought Alfred, the day wouldn't come when Bruce Wayne no longer needed Batman. He left the room with that sad revelation.

* * *

Whilst Bruce swore vengeance, the Joker physically threw the Mad Hatter out the back of the moving van, sick and tired of his obsession over Alice, laughing as he watched his body flip along the tarmacked road, seeing the havoc created as cars swerved to avoid hitting him. The Joker didn't want to share his toys.

"Did you really have to do that?" Alice asked, trying to sound angry but failing. In truth, the Mad Hatter's obsession with her had begun to both freak her out and annoy her simultaneously since they had got into the vehicle. She wasn't too bothered to see the back of him.

The Joker slammed the van's door closed, and turned around to grin at her, thinking she'd join in. Becoming disappointed that she didn't. Alice only glared daggers back at him. He slapped the hostage in the face to distract himself from the annoyance he was feeling, at her refusal to join in on the fun with him.

He didn't know this, but Alice was fuming over the fact that it had been him who had got her locked away in Arkham to begin with. He thought it was because he had knocked her down the stairs, a factor which only slightly irked her compared to the truth. Her anger towards him wasn't helped by the fact that she was having morphine withdrawals.

The Joker sat right next to his hostage, shoulder touching shoulder, and stared intensely at Alice. She looked more insane leaving the Asylum than she had when entering it. Her neck was turning a green blue, there were two brown circles on her temples from the shock therapy, her lips were cut up, there was still blood smudged on her chin, her arm was prodding out strangely- maybe it was broken after all, her cheeks were swollen from the slaps, and her eyes were set alight with fury. To the Joker, she was close to perfect!

If only her anger wasn't directed at him.

"Oh, don't you be playing so innocent!" she snapped.

' _Me?'_ the Joker mouthed, pointing to himself, mocking her and causing her wrath to only increase.

"I know it was you who got me locked up in the first place!"

The Joker wheezed out a chortle.

"Don't deny it!" she warned in advance, ready to snap completely.

"Oh, I wouldn't do _that_ to you, Alice." he told her. "How'd you work it all out?"

"Boles told me." she admitted, hands clenched together tightly.

"Before or after he tried electrocuting you to death?" He winked, having worked out everything clearly in his twisted head, and promised her, "We'll get him, don't you worry."

"I'm not angry that he told me, I'm angry at you!"

The Joker turned with a mock expression of shock towards the tied and gagged hostage, pretending to speak about her with him, "The level of gratitude."

"' _Gratitude'_?" Alice spluttered. "What exactly do I have to be grateful for?"

The Joker's smile vanished from his face, not liking to be insulted or contradicted, and he stood up from his seat slowly making his way to the bench opposite where Alice sat. He stopped right in front of her, their toes touching, and placed his middle and index finger under her chin, raising it violently up to coax her off her feat again. She stood up to greet him, his fingers still under her chin, so she was forced to look up and meet his black eyes.

"You don't get it get, do you?" he asked rhetorically, licking his scar. "I'm _freeing_ you, Alice."

"You got me locked up and I risked my life for everybody so we could escape, but you want to pretend that the whole plan was yours?" she asked dumbfounded, not understanding what he was talking about.

The Joker's eyes flashed with anger, and he gave her shoulders one violent shake.

" _Listen!"_ he shouted out in a low voice, before reverting back to his usual insane one.

"That back there, that was all you." He pointed to the van's seal doors giving her some credit, and then tapped his finger on Alice's rapidly beating heart. "But this, right here, this is all me! See, Alice, I want to help you like I helped Harvey Dent. I'm showing you a world without rules, and you've finally got something to live for! Something to _die_ for. Guess I'm not such a bad guy after all."

Alice paused, surprised to find that he had finally spoken a slitter of truth but that didn't mean that it made up for all of his lies.

"But why did you get me locked up with you?" Alice asked again, her voice this time sounding more hurt than angry.

"Alice, my little Alice," he smiled knowing she was in the palm of his hands again, resting on of his hand on her shoulder in a light display of affection. "We can't be split up. _They can't make us!"_ he suddenly shouted with a low voice, making her jump up. "We are the same. It's me and you. It will always be me and you."

Until he got bored of course. But he brushed that thought away, he'd get to the subject of disposing her when that happened, but currently he was living for the present.

Faint alarm bells rung in Alice's head. She recognised his speech from somewhere, not tying the connection that it had been similar to the one she used on Killer Croc, the Joker's words and mannerisms acting successfully to confuse her mind.

She was completely thrown off the tracks when he rolled up his sleeve of his orange jumpsuit, revealing a scar across his wrist that was identical to the one on hers. He rolled her sleeve up, showing off her own scar, smelling it's freshness. He then held her hand up with his scarred arm, making their scars lightly brush against each others whilst his finger nails dug painfully into the flesh of the back of her hand.

"Me and you." He repeated for the last time, before hissing, " _Say it!"_

"You and me." she agreed nodding along to him. She was more than buying into all the words he spoke, she was believing them. It made him start to laugh maniacally, and she joined in finding herself wanting to make him happy.

The hostage watched the crazy scene taking place in front of him, and started to choke on his sobs. He was doomed.

Crane slammed the metal window, that allowed to the driver to hear what was taking place in the back of the reinforced van, closed. The giggles and chuckles, grating on his last nerves.

He had slyly eavesdropped into the conversation taking place in the back of the van, feigning disinterest. But now, he was furrowing his eyebrows. He didn't understand why such an iconic villain would be so infatuated with a pathetic girl like Alice. Obviously, he believed that the Joker saw some potential in her, where Scarecrow didn't.

Crane did have to admit, that she had a strange ability to stay alive despite all the odds stacked against her. It was one of the reasons he had waited longer for her, at Maximum Security, just to make sure she was dead. And it had been a smart decision too, especially since she ended up being alive. He thought of her as an ant. No matter how many times you try to squish it with a shoe, they somehow always managed to slip through between the cracks and survive. It was a fitting analogy. After all, she had lived through suicide, the Joker, Scarecrow, Boles and now even Killer Croc. Maybe some things were destined to live forever.

And then again, thought Scarecrow who seeped out of Crane, maybe she had just been lucky. But the next encounter she had with him, her luck would sure to have ran out.

Like Crane had said, he would relish in killing her. He only had to wait.


	17. A Monster Who Cosplays As A Clown

**Part Three**

 **Chapter Thirteen- A Monster Who Cosplays As A Clown**

We watched the coverage live, all of our heads tilted in bafflement both at Stacy Gleeson's dramatic words, as well as her neon pink suit. From me, it was mainly at her outfit choice. Barbie was her signature look. I preferred grunge.

 _'With now fifteen dead_ (Croc had been very busy apparently) _and one missing, assumed dead, this has possibly been the most violent breakouts in Gotham's history!'_ We all took it as a compliment, like it was an achievement to add to our CV's. That would be sure to go down a treat.

Her acrylic nails flew up to hold in her ear piece as if she was deeply focussing on listening to the most recent update within their studio. She was just being theatrical though, the teleprompter which lay hidden to the eye, lurking under the camera, was telling her what to say. I could imagine that she was one of those girls who just _lived_ for drama.

' _Breaking News! Newly elected Mayor, Hamilton Hill, has now ordered the Asylum to release the escapee names. They go as follows- Jonathan Crane or the Scarecrow, the Joker, Alice Chill an associate of the Joker who recently failed in breaking him out of hospital, a man called Jervis Tech who goes by the name Mad Hatter- a man responsible for the abduction and murder of seven different young women- and finally an inmate called Waylon Jones who had been nicknamed Killer Croc, who we will try to acquire more information on as quickly as possible, his case file seeming to be blank._

 _'Here at GCN, you can expect the reporters to get the answers, so you don't have to! Now that all of these criminals are back on the streets it makes us question whether the people of Gotham are truly safe, and what the GCPD will do to protect us. We've requested for Commissioner Gordon to produce a statement, but he is yet to comment. Too busy, no doubt, finding the inmates. An act which has proven unsuccessful thus far.'_

"God she's annoying." I complained groaning with annoyance, having become saturated by her nasally voice. It hadn't taken long.

Crane shushed me with an aggressive stare, wanting to hear what she was going to say next. I mimicked zipping my mouth closed, only causing him to glare further. He was a tough crowd. I sighed, and listened back to the TV set.

' _Currently the GCPD is involved in a full scale manhunt of the city. They have already cordoned off all exits of Gotham, and request all citizens to remain inside for their own protection, and to allow the infrared cameras in the helicopters to work to their full capabilities. Finally, they have deployed a team of dogs to try trace their scent- however, this has remained a fruitless attempt.'_

I narrowed my eyebrows, surely they had managed to find the body of the Mad Hatter? After all we did throw him out of a moving van just off of the intersection. By 'we' I meant the Joker. There was no way that the GCPD incompetent enough to miss a dead body in the middle of the road. Which only meant one thing. Somehow he had survived. Apparently I wasn't the only person nearly impossible to kill.

 _'This makes us all question the level of sanity of said inmates. They surely possess the intelligence to successfully orchestrate and conduct a breakout, working together as a team to fulfil common goals. Does this sound like the skills mentally unstable people should possess? Join us soon when we talk with a world renowned clinical psychologist to help us come to a conclusion.'_

Crane switched off the screen as it cut to the commercial break, not wanting to hear about the latest treatment for foot fungus. Not that I was complaining. Looking at other people's bare feet gave me the creeps.

"We're save right?" I asked looking at Crane, wanting clarification. He brought us here, so therefore I'd decided he was in charge of our safety.

"Until the Batman finds us." Was Crane's paranoid answer.

"I don't think we have to worry about that." The Joker chuckled.

Crane froze for a second, frowning deeply as he tried to work out the meaning behind his words.

We were camping out at his hideout. Some random warehouse in the Bowery District. The location was genius on his part. The Bowery District was close to the Industrial Sector, right next to the water front meaning that he wasn't only in close proximity to all the boats which brought in his supplies, but also if the Police ever decided to do a raid on his warehouse, they wouldn't think twice about the masses of chemicals it held- assuming they were all in storage for some random industrial company that Gotham seemed to be full of. He'd be free to carry on using his chemicals to experiment with his fear toxin without drawing any unwanted attention to himself. Like I said, it was genius.

The warehouse was more than a huge storage for his chemicals, it was a lab too, complete with all the Bunsen burners, boiling and distilling flasks, compressors, separators, dehydrators, blenders, and conveyors, a scientist could dream of owning for their own personal uses.

I was perched sitting crossed legged on the work bench, the Joker sitting next to me, his legs hanging down off the table, his feet swaying at irregular intervals to a silent erratic rhythm. We had been facing the television that Crane had oddly enough wanted installed in the warehouse, a television which now finally had its uses. Crane was turned facing us, eying us suspiciously but not questioning anything, not yet.

"Now that Stacy woman, she _is_ somebody we got to watch out for, huh Alice?" the Joker continued, jumping down from the bench giving me a wink from the corner of his eye.

Gleeson had been on his hit list ever since he had caught glimpse on her on that tiny hospital telly screen. She had no idea what was coming her way. It was nearly hysterical.

But I didn't smile, not this time. The efforts the GCPD were employing were getting me concerned. It didn't sound like they'd hang their guns up and let us walk away free any time soon. The longer it was taking them to find us, the more determined they seemed to be to capture us.

"When will they give up?" I questioned, looking between the two of them.

Crane and the Joker turned to look at me like I was an idiot.

"My sweet, sweet Alice." The Joker chortled at my optimism, "They won't ever quit. When the Mob controlled them, they were dogs. Give them a treat, and they'd do what you said. But now Gordon's in charge, they're _machines_."

"So they won't ever stop chasing us?" I asked naively, still not quite believing it. I had been so focussed on escaping that I hadn't really considered this whole fugitive game out fully. It was already tiring; I wasn't sure I could manage doing it full time.

"It's part of being a criminal, if you can't take it- turn yourself in." Crane said coolly, making me guilty for complaining when I should have been grateful for having come so far.

"I can take it." I said defiantly, digging my nails into my palms with agitation.

Crane just raised his eyebrow, doubting it severely.

But the Joker didn't, he slapped me roughly on the back grinning at the pained groans which left my mouth. My arm hadn't been the only thing which had been injured in the fall- the _push-_ down the stairs.

"So what's the plan then?" I queried. "We can't lay low forever. Sooner or later one of Arkham's staff is going to notice they're missing a van."

That wasn't necessarily true. From the news footage, Gotham's streets were full of them, as Guards tried to help search for the missing inmates. It be near impossible for the Police and employees to keep tabs of their vehicles, it gave us an extra advantage.

But currently, I was the most expendable member of our little trio. Just like the Mad Hatter had been before, and he'd been left for dead. The only thing that stopped me suffering from the same fate as him was the Joker, and even though he currently stated that he had an affinity for me, I wasn't blindsided. He could change his mind in a split second, and there was no power on Earth which could stop him. Therefore, I had to make myself useful. Well try to at least.

"Anybody ever tell you, you worry too much?" he asked nonchalantly, looking at me curiously as he brushed away our gloomy horizons with a casual shrug. "See, neither of us need to scheme. Everything was already been worked out by _him._ There's a reason we were brought here. Am I right?"

He tilted his head away to gaze smugly at Crane, flashing his stained yellow teeth out with a smile that resembled a sneer.

"You're not wrong." Jonathan admitted, stiffly, probably annoyed his big reveal had been ruined.

The Joker took his words as an invitation to bounce over to him. But there was nothing merry about his stride. It screamed turbulence, like it was an upending storm. I'd already come to the conclusion that for some reason the Joker wasn't so keen on Crane, this nearly confirmed it.

Unconsciously, I uncrossed my legs to lean forward, wanting to see what would happen next.

"Soooo," the Joker drawled, taking his time. "You're the infamous Scarecrow. The one who caused quite the panic through The Narrows. We haven't been formally introduced. Gotta say though, I pictured you less weedy in my head."

Crane moved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, not used to being insulted since he had created and absorbed his other persona. The Joker swiped the glasses from his head and held them out half a meter above his eyes, squinting his eyes to test out the lens.

" _Ah ah ah!"_ he tutted, moving them away last second as Crane grabbed for them, wagging his finger mockingly. " _Naughty!"_

He placed the glasses delicately in the front pocket of Crane's jumpsuit, and patted him on the chest gingerly.

I wasn't sure whether his action was to assert dominance over him, or to rile him up enough to force the Scarecrow to be unleased in full force. Either way, it was working. Crane was physically twitching as he tried to keep a hold of his mind and body, allowing the Joker to lead the conversation.

"Now, what would a capable man like yourself want with a humble joker like me?" he placed his hand on his own heart and batted his eyelashes innocently, before quickly growing bored and glaring at Crane darkly and clenching his fist to his side.

I had been right, for some reason the Joker didn't like him. Crane's admiration for him wasn't reciprocated. But Crane's admiration for him was quickly fading and turning into irritation.

"I think we should work together." Crane said his voice strained, as he swallowed the urge to transform and transgress into his other half.

By 'we', I wasn't included. Like I said, I was the expendable one. The third wheel.

"See," the Joker frowned. "That doesn't make any sense to me. From what I've heard, you- _uh_ , you work for money. That whole stint in The Narrows? You got paid! Now, I'm not judging you for it. It just makes you… well less impressive.

"Now, I, one the other hand, _I_ ," he licked his lips, rolling his eyes backwards. "Like to do things for fun. And you know the best thing about fun? It tends to be selfish. And you know what they say- there's no 'I' in 'Team'."

Crane scowled at his immediate refusal, not used to being turned down, "This job isn't about the money."

I had a gut feeling I knew where this was going.

The Joker perked up suddenly curious, "Now you've got me interested!"

"This jobs about getting rid of a certain pest from the streets." Crane explained.

"Keep talking." The Joker demanded his interest growing.

"The Batman."

The Joker fell silent and turned around slowly to meet my guilty face which avoided all eye contact like it were a plague.

I was in deep shit.

Crane continued, "I realise that you had the chance to reveal and end him before, and you changed your mind. But look where that got you. I believe that now-"

The Joker cut him off laughing.

" _Ho ho ho,"_ he wheezed, holding onto his stomach. "So Alice didn't tell you. Now that really _is_ naughty."

Crane raised his eyebrow, looking around the Joker to stare me down. Still, I avoided eye contact not excited for what would be revealed next. I was now swimming in shit.

"Joker." I warned him with two syllables, trying to beg him to keep his mouth shut.

"Tell me what?" Crane snapped.

"Alice," the Joker said patronisingly, pretending to be serious but unable to hide the amusement in his black eyes. "I think you owe Crane an explanation."

I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes up to the sky, nearly praying. Finding a spurt of courage to face the angry and clueless Jonathan Crane. He wasn't going to take my news well.

"Batman's no longer in Gotham's picture." I explained, thinking (hoping) that the words might have a softer blow if they came from my own mouth and not a clown who lived for conflict. "He's just as wanted by the cops as any of us are. They think he had teamed up with the Joker to kill Dent."

" _What?"_ He shook with anger, his glasses slipping down his nose.

The Joker backed out of the firing line, raising his eyebrows with entertainment. He wanted to watch this little drama play out before his very eyes like it was a soap opera. He then froze for a moment, having an idea. Then scrapped the chair from the corner of the room, by it's legs across the cemented floor, the chair that held the tied and gagged hostage. All so the appending scene could have an active audience. How considerate.

"If I told you, you would've left without helping us." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly.

Crane took an intimidating step forward towards me, and I hurled myself off the opposite side of the bench, using it for protection- sensing danger. Crane rested both fists on its wooden surface. His twitching was getting worse. If Scarecrow came out, I was undeniably screwed.

I sent pleading looks towards the Joker, wanting back up. But he just stared at the scene with humour. So much for that motivational speech he had given in the back of the van, apparently he had swallowed his words already.

"You manipulated me into helping you?" He fumed, no doubt furious that someone he regarded as so intellectually inferior could be able to trick him. I could hear the heavy breaths coming out from his nostrils.

"That's a pretty strong word you used there. 'Misinformed' maybe?" I tried, raising my brow pathetically trying to seem sweet. "I mean, you _did_ tell me you liked it in Arkham. I didn't think you'd care!"

"'Didn't think I'd care.'" He repeated slowly.

I nodded eagerly, like a bobble head toy.

He smiled with gritted teeth, and I relaxed thinking he had calmed down slightly.

The moment when I breathed a sigh of relief, was the moment when Scarecrow lunged over the table and grabbed the collar of my jumpsuit, dragging me over the bench to his side.

I shrieked but the noise was drowned out by the Joker's maniacally laughter which filled up the entire room.

Scarecrow pinned my back to the bench, the wood dug painfully into my spine, whilst my feet scrapped against the cement flooring. His hands moved up to my neck to begin suffocating me, pressing hard on the blue bruises which had formed from the last time I got choked out. However, I had a feeling this time if I blacked out, I wouldn't be waking up again. It would've been the correct assumption.

My own hands flew up to his trying to loosen the grip, trying to allow air back in my lungs. An instinctually response. But like the first time, it proved to be completely useless. I didn't match him on strength, not by a long shot. I fought against natural instinct and moved my heavy arms up to Scarecrow's face which hovered above my own, finding pleasure in watching me gag. I took my thumbs and pressed down hard on his eyes, my other fingers gripping onto the side of his face for leverage.

It worked!

Temporarily blinded he stepped backwards, letting go of my neck, his hands covering his eyes for protection.

I stood up immediately, coughing air back into my lungs, leaning against the bench for support. Keeping a wary eye on Scarecrow, who had backed into one of his desks in the opposite side of the lab, in case Round Two was going to start with a sneak attack.

The Joker clapped his hands slowly.

"Great job, Alice!" he congratulated me.

"Yeah, thanks for all the help." I said sarcastically, my hand rubbing my bruised throat tenderly. My neck was on fire. Apparently it was becoming a regular event, stronger and bigger men attacking little old me. And I was _not_ okay with it.

"I wanted to see how you manage without me." He smiled slyly.

I scowled at the Joker, momentarily taking my eyes off of Crane, not believing him.

"Or you wanted some entertainment." I stated drily.

He clucked his tongue slowly with disappointment at my misinterpretation, and his eyes flashed with darkness.

"Now, really Alice, I could _never_ find amusement in somebody _else_ harming you. I'll deal with Crow, the same way I'll deal with Boles. _Painfully._ " He promised me, cracking his neck as he turned his attention towards Crane.

I frowned. One of the desks drawers was slightly opened.

"What are you up to?" I questioned cautiously, staring at the open drawer which had been closed just a minute before.

Crane smile was strained, "I truly misjudged your intelligence. I won't happen again."

He delicately picked up his iconic mask from the drawer like it was a precious artefact, and lay it gently on the counter beside him. To him, it was a part of his soul. To me, all it looked like was an empty potato sack with two holes cut out for eyes. But I knew that its reveal meant one thing, to start fearing for your life.

I sent the Joker a worrying glance, but he ignored it his eyes sparking towards the brown mask; electrocuted with excitement.

It was obvious that it was up to me to defuse the situation; I couldn't see the clown playing pacifier. Maybe I did have role to play in the team, that role being Jerry Springer. God help us all.

"C'mon Crane, look I'm sorry!" I held my hands up with regret. "We've all gotten so far together, but we aren't out the deep yet. Like you guys have said, the GCPD won't stop-"

"That isn't necessarily true." Crane cut in.

Now, I was confused.

"Huh?"

"Like the Joker said- 'they're machines'. And one way to turn off a machine, to kill it's power supply- Commissioner Gordon. They will be lost, and once again fall back to the control of the Mob." Crane had clearly planned this out in his head already, he turned to look at the Joker, "But you knew this already."

The Joker shrugged loosely, trying to hide that he was slightly impressed, "I was planning on introducing a _virus_."

I didn't understand what the Joker meant, but Crane did, judging from the way he nodded his head in approval. So I carried on trying to reunite us again quickly before Scarecrow tried anything rash, "Well then, we all work together to stop them. Then we can all go our separate ways."

It sounded like a good plan to me. I had bigger fish to fry than Gordon, but I was willing to make a quick detour along the way.

I wasn't an idiot. I could've left the warehouse right then and there, and slip back invisibly into The Narrows. The GCPD wouldn't even recognise me if they saw me, all their efforts were focussed on the monsters who couldn't even count their number of victims. But doing that meant I might forfeit my opportunity to hunt down Sionis.

I'd realised in the van journey over, I had no idea where to start my search for him. It wasn't as if his name was in the telephone directory (I had checked when I was a child). I needed the help of the Joker, somebody who was more than able to locate where the Mob had held their secret meetings. I figured if he could sniff out the Mob without difficulty, one man would be easy.

Like he had said in the van- 'we can't be split up'. Neither of us were going to allow it now.

"No." Crane said.

"No?" I repeated in shock.

"I will no longer work with the Joker and his.. _puppet,_ " he paused finding the correct word for me, I gritted my teeth holding back an insult.

"Oh yeah, and why's that?" I asked carefully, trying not to show my agitation. I couldn't play the pacifier if I was going to start going on the offence.

The Joker looked at me with laughter, "Can't you tell Alice? He won't work with us because Scarecrow has already decided to kill us."

He turned to Crane with exhilaration, his tongue flicking around the corner of his mouth, and then he taunted him asking- "What ya waiting for?"

Crane's whole body tensed, going rigid stiff from infuriation.

I internally cursed at the Joker, sending him hateful glares which he brushed off with a grin. Unlike him, I was very much opposed to death. As in, I didn't want to play Russian roulette with the devil just to see if I'd come out alive. His jeers and jabs, designed to provoke Scarecrow were not helping my life expectancy.

"First though," Crane said, his voice blending into Scarecrow's as the twitching increased. "I want to tell you why I use a Scarecrow. It's the fear it creates. For some reason, there are certain images which can inflict fear to any number of people. Clowns and Scarecrows seem to be prime examples. At first I had picked it because it would work as a symbol of terror, but now Scarecrow has grown to become a part of me that I had never known existed.

"These days, I feel he is more me than I ever was and ever could be. And becoming imprisoned by an identity that I have created is not a curse at all. I am not trapped, I am free! I thought we were the same Clown, that you have picked your identity for the same reasons and it had led to the same conclusion as my own. We would have been perfect for each other."

"I just chose a clown so I could make the people laugh." The Joker smiled playfully, his eyes darting around the room with wild anticipation. Nobody enjoyed playing with fire more than him. It was starting to feel that he did everything just for shits and giggles, he being the only one who found it entertaining.

His final joke cracked Crane.

"Keep laughing clown, soon you'll be screaming!" Scarecrow shouted, reaching into the open drawer and throwing out a glass vial which had been concealed within it, breaking it directly below the Joker's feet.

I held my breath.

Quite literally. I'd seen what his toxin could inflict on people. There was no way that I was going to risk sampling it myself.

The grey smog enveloped the entire bodies of the Joker and the hostage who sat in front. Scarecrow picked his signature mask holding it within his hands delicately as if it was some precious artefact. He was waiting patiently for the smoke to evaporate to witness the throaty screams that would surely follow as they caught glimpse of it.

The gas cleared quickly, trailing out of the ventilation system installed into the roof, and I could finally breathe again.

The Asylum Guard saw the mask first, being eye level with it, and screamed violently from beneath his gag. Trying to kick away from it. His screams caused the gag to fall inside of his mouth, and soon they turned into chokes. He was literally gagging on his own gag. And all I did was watch, the morbid fascination taking over.

It wasn't long until the sounds of chokes and screams ended. The hostage had died with his eyes open, frozen permanently in time with a look of complete terror.

Then there was silence.

Of course, it didn't last long.

"Well, that was disappointing." The Joker stated, "I had big plans for this one."

Scarecrow and I turned to him in wonder, all our interest having been focussed on watching someone else choke themselves to death.

"It didn't work," Scarecrow frowned, and asked himself, "How is this possible?"

The Joker turned, crouching on the floor, to inspect the newly deceased Guard's face.

"Looks like it worked to me." He commented moving the hostage's face towards Scarecrow so he could inspect the results, before standing up and tilting the chair forward, to let the dead man fall to the floor.

As the low thump of the body hitting the floor bounced around the room, I realised that it was true: the Joker was immune to the fear gas.

That only meant one thing, he was truly scared of nothing. He had one seriously twisted head and I wasn't even scratching the surface yet. It was part of our make-up to feel fear; fear of death, fear of loss, fear of failure, heck, even fear of the Batman. Fear was one of the things that tied everyone together, it was one thing which made us all human.

Apparently this rule had an exception.

But who would describe the Joker as human? He was the furthest thing from it. As much as he enthralled me, I could tell he was a monster in clown's clothing. And Scarecrow was just beginning to realise this too, his face betraying himself with worry.

The Joker licked his scar, "You had such potential Scarecrow, but you let yourself down. If you said to me you wanted us to work together to get rid of Gordon, or that new Mayor, what's his name… Hamilton. I would have- _uh_ jumped at the chance. But Batsy? The Bat's the only thing that kept the game interesting! And now he's gone. Well, it's up to good Samaritans, like me, to coax him out of the shadows.

"Beautiful speech by the way. But you got it _all_ wrong. Want to know why I _really_ wear a mask?" He paused, tilting his head towards Scarecrow. "You wear one for fear. Batman wears one for protection. _I,_ now I wear one because I'm showing Gotham it's true face. This whole big city of dirt, full of wealth and filth, playboys and junkies, crooked cops and mobsters. This whole wretched swamp, well it's one huge joke. And I'm the Joker!"

He picked up the chair, and ran over to Scarecrow smashing it against his face knocking him clean out.

I took a step back, shocked.

He wouldn't stop hammering him. Not until the blood got soaked into his white canvas shoes, dying them red.

He straightened up slowly, wiping the greasy hair which had fallen over his eyes away from his face with the back of his bloodied hand. Panting heavily from excitement. Turning to face me, looking proud with himself.

"Bit over the top, don't you think?" I said shakily, trying not to show my discomfort, avoiding looking at the mess that was sure Crane's face was in.

The Joker's smile vanished, and he suddenly turned dead serious.

He walked slowly towards me, and I fought the quiver in my thighs which urged me to make a break for it, I stood my ground.

The Joker grabbed my face and forced me to look at Crane.

I tried not to gag. His face was already unrecognisable, covered in messy blood. His eyes half shut and nearly the size of pool balls, prodding out purple from his head. His nose no longer looked attached, completely broken in half.

It made me want to puke.

"That's how I'll deal with Boles. _Nobody_ touches _my_ Alice without _my_ permission." He declared forcefully into my ear, as if the room was full of invisible predators. "Got a complaint?"

My spine froze cold.

I shook my head, not trusting my mouth to utter out the one syllable 'no'.

He patted me on the cheek, staring at me for a second longer trying to work out what I was thinking. He grinned suddenly, turning on his heel walking over to the opened drawer which Crane had been at, taking out a container that held capsules of his infamous fear toxin.

He then walked towards the door, and froze, turning to look over his shoulder to look at me as I stood like a tableau, completely still.

"Coming?"

I nodded curtly, and nearly ran after him.

It wasn't as if I could say no.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I took this idea of the Joker being immune to fear gas from** ** _Batman: Knightfall_** **saga. I figured that given he isn't scared of mobsters, police, Batman or even death, within the film then chances are he isn't scared of anything! I even kept the part of the Joker beating Scarecrow up with a chair, just to pay the comic some homage. Jesus, I'm a nerd!**

 **I took a while uploading this chapter because I actually had to rewrite it four times, honestly it was the hardest chapter (so far) to write since it only takes place in one setting, so trying to get it to flow was a nightmare. My first draft was only actually 2000 words, and somehow it worked it's way up to 5000! Have no idea how that happened. Still not completely happy with it, so will probably edit this again once the story is finished. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it at least, and thank you all for your kind words, they mean the world to me!**


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